Chapter Eleventh.
CROSSING THE PLAINS.
News was several times received from Rupert and Don during their slowand toilsome journey across the States of Illinois and Missouri, butwhen the last frontier town was left behind and with it such luxuriesof civilization as mails and post-offices, the door of communicationwas closed: they could neither hear from home nor be heard from theretill the trackless wilderness should be crossed and the land of goldenpromise reached.
The Keiths had an ox-team and wagon for the transportation of theirbaggage--clothing, camp equipage, mining tools, and some luxuries,among which were a few books. Also a saddle-horse, which they rodeby turns; though Rupert oftener than Don, who had more strength fordriving and more taste for it.
This emigrant band, of which they formed a part, comprised some twentymen, several with wives and children; a dozen wagons drawn by oxen,and two or three horses beside that which was the joint property ofRupert and Don.
Rupert's health had steadily improved from the time of leaving home,so that the bulletins to the dear ones there had been sources of greatjoy, though joy mingled with grief at the thought of the months orperhaps years that must pass by ere they could hope to see the lovedwanderers again.
Rupert, who was of a very kindly disposition, always on the lookout foropportunities to be of service to others, had already become a generalfavorite with his fellow-travellers.
Was a little child crying with the weariness of confinement to thecramped quarters of the wagon, he would take it on his horse beforehim, and give it the rest of a brisk canter in the open air and with anunobstructed view on all sides.
Older ones were frequently taken up behind him; at other times hedismounted, and joining them as they plodded along beside or in therear of the wagons, beguiled the tediousness of the way with story orsong.
So slow was the movement of the oxen, so wearisome the constant sittingor lying in the jolting wagons, that a robust child would very oftenprefer walking during the greater part of the day; and even littlegirls were known to have walked hundreds of miles in making the tripacross the plains.
But it was necessary to keep near the wagons because of danger fromwild beasts and roving bands of Indians.
Rupert, and indeed every man in the party, was always armed readyto repel an attack or to bring down game that came within shootingdistance, thus adding a welcome variety to their bill of fare. Therewere wild geese and turkeys, prairie fowl, rabbits, squirrels, deer,bisons, and bears, all to be had for the shooting.
After leaving Independence they camped out every night, building afire to cook their evening meal and keep off wild beasts, except whenthere was reason to fear that Indians were in the neighborhood; thenthe fire was not kindled, as the smoke would be likely to reveal theirvicinity to the lurking foe; but instead, sentinels were posted, whokept vigilant watch while the others slept.
Occasionally in the day-time, when no game had come near, two or threeof the men would mount their horses and gallop away over the prairiein search of it, finding it no very difficult task to overtake theslow-moving wagon-train, even after a ride of several miles, and anabsence, it might be, of an hour or more.
One afternoon, when they had been many weeks passing through that greatwilderness, so that they were now much nearer California than the homesthey had left behind, they were crossing a seemingly boundless rollingprairie.
Their provisions were getting low, and fowls and larger game alike hadkept out of shooting range all day.
"It's five o'clock," Rupert Keith said, looking at his watch andaddressing a man named Morton, who was riding by his side, "and willsoon be too late for a shot at anything. Suppose we dash off over thosehills yonder and see if we can't scare up something."
"Agreed," replied Morton. Then called to another horseman, "Halloo,Smith! will you join Keith and me in a run over those hills in searchof game?"
"That I will!" was the rejoinder, and away they galloped, and were in afew moments lost to the view of the rest of their party, who continuedmoving onward in their accustomed leisurely fashion.
An hour or more had passed; the prairie still stretched away on everyside; the distant hills to the southward, beyond which the horsemen hadgone, were still in view, and the eyes of almost every one in the trainwere turned ever and anon in that direction, hoping for their returnwell-laden with venison or wild fowl.
At length a shout was raised, "Here they come!" but was followedinstantly by the affrighted cry, "Indians! Indians!" for a party of thelatter were in full chase.
Don was walking beside his team, two little girls quite near him. Hecaught them up and almost threw them into his wagon, telling themto lie down and keep quiet and still; then turned and pulled out arevolver.
Others had acted with equal quickness, and were ready--some from theirwagons, some from the ground--to fire upon the advancing foe.
There was a brief, sharp fight; the Indians were driven off, carryingtheir killed and wounded with them.
Then it was found that Rupert was missing, Smith badly wounded, oneor two others slightly, while Don lay insensible and bleeding on theground near his wagon.
They at first thought him dead, but he had only fainted from loss ofblood, and they presently succeeded in bringing him to.
"Rupert? my brother--where is he?" he asked in the first moment ofconsciousness.
"Those red devils have done for him, Don," Morton answered, with atremble in his voice; "the shot that tumbled him from his horse was thefirst intimation we had that they were upon us."
Don groaned and hid his face.
"Don't take it so hard," said a pitying woman's voice; "he's gone to abetter place; we all know that; nobody could be with him a day and notsee that he was a real Christian."
"That's so." "True enough, Mrs. Stone." "I only wish we were all asready for heaven," responded one and another.
Then Morton suggested that they ought to be moving on; the Indiansmight return in larger force; it would not do to encamp where theywere, and night was coming on.
To this there was a general assent. Don was carefully and tenderlylifted into his wagon and gently laid down upon the softest bed thatcould be improvised for him; then a volunteer driver from among theyoung men of the party took his seat and drove on, doing his best tomake the motion easy to the sufferer. They were the last of the train,but not far behind the wagon next in front of them.
In spite of all the care and kindness shown him, Don's bodilysufferings were acute, yet by no means equal to his mental distress;his sense of bereavement--a bereavement so sudden, so shocking--andanguish at the thought of the poignant grief of his parents when thedreadful news should reach their ears.
The emigrants pushed on for several hours before they ventured to stopand encamp. When at last they did, the cessation of motion gave someslight relief to poor Don, and the food brought him by the kind-heartedwoman who had tried to comfort him with the assurance of his brother'sreadiness for death, revived somewhat his failing strength; but it wasa night of pain and grief, in which Don would have given much to be athome again, especially if he might have had Rupert there alive and well.
The night passed quietly; there was no new alarm, and early in themorning the emigrants pursued their way, pressing forward as rapidlyas circumstances would permit, and keeping a sharp lookout for Indians.
Before they started--indeed, as soon as he was awake, Morton came toask how Don was, and how he had passed the night.
Don answered briefly, then burst out, "Oh, Morton, are you quite surethat--that my brother was killed? May he not have been only stunned bythe shot and the fall from his horse?"
Morton shook his head. "No, I looked back several times, and he nevermoved."
"Oh," groaned Don, "if only I were not helpless, I should go and searchfor him, for I do not feel at all sure that he is not still alive."
"Well, I think you may," said Morton; "for even supposing he was notkilled by that first shot and the fall, the Indians would
be sure tofinish him when they went back, for they went off in that direction."
Don turned away his face with a heavy sob. It did indeed seem almostimpossible that Rupert could have escaped death, and yet--and yet--oh,if he were but able to go in search of him! Perhaps he was a captivedoomed to death by slow torture. Oh, to fly to his aid! rescue orperish with him!
But no one else in all the company thought there was the least chancethat he was alive, and to go in quest of him would not only greatlydelay them (a great misfortune, considering the fact that their stockof provisions was so low), but would risk all their lives, as theIndians were probably still prowling about that spot, and might attackthem in great force.
The poor boy's only comfort was, that wherever and in whatevercircumstances his brother might be, he was under the care of analmighty Friend, who would never leave nor forsake him, and in beingable to plead for him with that Friend.
The rest of the journey was of course a very sad one to poor Don,though every one was kind to him, doing all that was possible for hisrelief and comfort, partly for Rupert's sake, partly for Don's own, forhe too had ever shown a pleasant, obliging, kindly disposition towardothers.
His wounds had nearly healed, and he had recovered almost his usualstrength by the time their destination was reached.
Arrived there, he wrote at once to his parents, telling of Rupert'sloss, his own condition, and asking if they were willing that, beingnow upon the ground, he should stay for a time and look for gold.
But as months must elapse ere he could hope to receive an answer, heset to work determined to do his best in the mean time.
He did not find the life a whit less toilsome and trying than hisparents had warned him it would be, nor were his surroundings anymore agreeable; the roughest of men, drinking, smoking, swearing,quarrelsome creatures, were often his daily companions; the foulestlanguage assailed his ears; gambling and drunken brawls went on inhis presence; robberies, murders, and lynchings were of frequentoccurrence; the Sabbath was openly desecrated; men--even those whohad been all their previous lives accustomed to the restraints ofreligion--here acted as if they had never heard of God, or heaven, orhell.
And there were few creature comforts to be had; all the necessaries oflife were sold at astonishingly high prices, so that gold, even whenfound, could not be kept, but melted away like snow in the sun.
It was not long before Don's thoughts were turned yearningly toward thehome he had been so eager to forsake.
He was tolerably fortunate in his quest: but alas! all the gold in theworld could not compensate for the loss of all the sweetness and beautyof life; all the happiness to be found in a well-regulated home, wherelove to God and man was the ruling principle of action; where wereneatness and order, gentleness and refinement; where sweet-toned voicesspoke kindly affectionate words; affectionate smiles were wont to greethis coming, and loved eyes to look lovingly into his.
Mildred at Home: With Something About Her Relatives and Friends. Page 11