CHAPTER VII
THE FORESHADOWING OF PERIL
O clear-eyed Faith, and Patience thou So calm and strong! Lend strength to weakness, teach us how The sleepless eyes of God look through This night of wrong!
--WHITTIER.
While these May days were slipping by, strange history was making itselfin Kansas. I marvel now, as I recall the slender bonds that stayed usfrom destruction, that we ever dared to do our part in thatrecord-building day. And I rejoice that we did not know the whole perilthat menaced us through those uncertain hours, else we should have lostall courage.
Father Le Claire held himself neutral to the North and the South, andwas sometimes distrusted by both factions in our town; but he wentserenely on his way, biding his time patiently. At sunrise on themorning after O'mie had surprised Jean Pahusca with Marjie's wreath offaded blossoms held caressingly in his brown hands, Le Claire met him inthe little chapel. What he confessed led the priest to take him at onceto the Osages farther down on the Neosho.
"I had hoped to persuade Jean to stay at the Mission," Le Claire saidafterwards. "He is the most intelligent one of his own tribe I have everknown, and he could be invaluable to the Osages, but he would not stayaway from Springvale. And I thought it best to come back with him."
The good man did not say why he thought it best to keep Jean under hisguardianship. Few people in Springvale would have dreamed how dangerousa foe we had in this superbly built, picturesque, handsome Indian.
In the early hours of the morning after his return, the priest wasroused from a sound sleep by O'mie. A storm had broken over the townjust after midnight. When it had spent itself and roared off down thevalley, the rain still fell in torrents, and O'mie's clothes weredripping when he rushed into Le Claire's room.
"For the love av Heaven," he cried, "they's a plot so pizen I must gitout of me constitution quick. They're tellin' it up to Conlow's shop.Them two strangers, Yeager and his pal, that's s'posed to be sleepin'now to get an airly start, put out 'fore midnight for a prowl an' foundtheirsilves right up to Conlow's. An' I wint along behind'em--respectful," O'mie grinned; "an' there was Mapleson an' Conlow an'the holy Dodd, mind ye. M. E. South's his rock o' defence. An' Jean wasthere too. They're promisin' him somethin', the strangers air. Tell an'Conlow seemed to kind o' dissent, but give in finally."
"Is it whiskey?" asked the priest.
"No, no. Tell says he can't have nothin' from the 'Last Chance.' Saysthe old Roman Catholic'll fix his agency job at Washington if he letsJean get drunk. It's somethin' else; an' Tell wants to git aven withyou, so he gives in."
The priest's face grew pale.
"Well, go on."
"There's a lot of carrion birds up there I never see in this town. Justlit in there somehow. But here's the schame. The Confederates has itall planned, an' they're doin' it now to league together all the Injuntribes av the Southwest. They's more 'n twinty commissioned officers,Rebels, ivery son av 'em, now on their way to meet the chiefs av thesetribes. An' all the Kansas settlements down the river is to be fell uponby the Ridskins, an' nobody to be spared. Wid them Missouri raiders onthe east and the Injuns in the southwest where'll anybody down there be,begorra, betwixt two sich grindin' millstones? I couldn't gather it allin, ye see. I was up on a ladder peeking in through a long hole laiddown sideways. But that's the main f'ature av the rumpus. They'recountin' big on the Osages becase the Gov'mint trusts 'em to do scoutduty down beyont Humboldt, and Jean says the Osages is sure to join 'em.Said it is whispered round at the Mission now. And phwat's to be nixt?"
Father Le Claire listened intently to O'mie's hurried recital. Then herose up before the little Irishman, and taking both of the boy's handsin his, he said: "O'mie, you must do your part now."
"Phwat can I do? Show me, an' bedad, I'll do it."
"You will keep this to yourself, because it would only make trouble ifit were repeated now, and we may outwit the whole scheme without anyunnecessary anxiety and fright. Also, you must keep your eyes and earsopen to all that's done and said here. Don't let anything escape you. IfI can get across the Neosho this morning I can reach the Mission in timeto keep the Osages from the plot, and maybe break it up. Then I'll comeback here. They might need me if Jean"--he did not finish the sentence."In two days I can do everything needful; while if the word were startedhere now, it might lead to a Rebel uprising, and you would beoutnumbered by the Copperheads here, backed by the Fingal's Creekcrowd. You could do nothing in an open riot."
"I comprehend ye," said O'mie. "It's iverything into me eyes an' earsan' nothin' out av me mouth."
"Meanwhile," the priest spoke affectionately, "you must be strong, myson, to choose the better part. If it's life or death,--O God, thathuman life should be held so cheap!--if it's left to you to choose whomust be the sacrifice, you will choose right. I can trust you. Remember,in two or three days at most, I can be back; but keep your watch,especially of Jean. He means mischief, but I cannot stay here now, muchless take him with me. He would not go."
So it happened that Father Le Claire hurried away in the darkness andthe driving rain, and at a fearful risk swam his horse across theNeosho, and hastened with all speed to the Mission.
When that midnight storm broke over the town, on the night when O'miefollowed the strangers and found out their plot, I helped Aunt Candaceto fasten the windows and make sure against it until I was too wideawake to go to bed. I sat down by my window, in the lightning flasheswatching the rain, wind-driven across the landscape. The night was pitchblack. In all the southwest there was only one light, a sullen red barof flame that came up from Conlow's forge fire. I watched itindifferently at first because it was there. Then I began to wonder whyit should gleam there red and angry at this dead hour of darkness. As Iwatched, the light flared up as though it were fanned into a blaze. Thenit began to blink and I knew some one was inside the shop. It wasblotted out for a time, then it glowed again, as if there were manypassing and re-passing. I wondered what it could all mean in such anhour, on such a night as this. Then I thought of old Conlow's children,of "Possum" in his weak, good-natured homeliness, and of Lettie. How Idisliked her, and wished she would keep out of my way, which she neverwould do. Her face was clear to me, there in the dark. It grewmalicious; then it hardened into wickedness, and I slipped from watchinginto a drowsy, half-waking sleep in my chair. The red bar of lightbecame the flame of cannon on a battlefield, I saw our men in alife-and-death struggle with the enemy on a rough, wild mountainside.Everywhere my father was leading them on, and by his side Irving Whatelybore the Springvale flag aloft. And then beside me lay the color-bearerwith white, agonized face, pleading with me. His words were ringing inmy ears, "Take care of Marjie, Phil; keep her from harm."
I woke with a start, stiff and shivering. With one half-dazed glance atthe black night and that sullen tell-tale light below me, I groped myway to my bed and slept then the dreamless sleep of vigorous youth.
The rain continued for many hours. Yeager and his company could not getaway from town on account of the booming Neosho. Also several otherstrange men seemed to have rained down from nobody asked where, andwhile the surface of affairs was smooth there was a troubledundercurrent. Nobody seemed to know just what to expect, yet a sense ofcalamity pervaded the air. Meanwhile the rain poured down inintermittent torrents. On the second evening of this miserable gloom Istrolled down to the tavern stables to find O'mie. Bud and John Andersonand both the Mead boys were there, sprawled out on the hay. O'mie sat ona keg in the wagon way, and they were all discussing affairs of Statelike sages. I joined in and we fought the Civil War to a finish in halfan hour. In all the "solid North" there was no more loyal company onthat May night than that group of brawny young fellows full of the fireof patriotism, who swore anew their eternal allegiance to the Union.
"It's a crime and a disgrace," declared Dave Mead, "that because we'reonly boys we can't go to the War, and every one of us, except O'miehere, muscled like oxen; while older, weaker men are being shot down atChan
cellorsville or staggering away from Bull Run."
"O'mie 'thgot the thtuff in him though. I'd back him againth David andGoliath," Bud Anderson insisted.
"Yes, or Sodom and Gomorrah, or some other Bible characters," observedBill Mead. "You'd better join the Methodist Church South, Bud, and letold Dodd labor with you."
Then O'mie spoke gravely:
"Boys, we've got a civil war now in our middust. Don't ask me how Iknow. The feller that clanes the horses around the tavern stables, trusthim fur findin' which way the Neosho runs, aven if he is small an'insignificant av statoor. I've seen an' heard too much in these twodirty wet days."
He paused, and there came into his eyes a pathetic pleading look as ofone who sought protection. It gave place instantly to a fearless, heroicexpression that has been my inspiration in many a struggle. I know nowhow he longed to tell us all he knew, but his word to Le Claire held himback.
"I can't tell you exactly phwat's in the air, fur I don't know it allyit. But there's trouble brewin' here, an' we must be ready, as wepromised we would be when our own wint to the front."
O'mie had hit home. Had we not sworn our fealty to the flag, andprotection to our town in our boyish patriotism the Summer before?
"Boys," O'mie went on, "if the storm breaks here in Springvale we've gotto forgit ourselves an' ivery son av us be a hero for the work that'slaid before him. Safe or dangerous, it's duty we must be doin', like thetrue sons av a glorious commonwealth, an' we may need to be lightnin'swift about it, too."
Tell Mapleson and Jim Conlow had come in as O'mie was speaking. We knewtheir fathers were bitter Rebels, although the men made a pretence toloyalty, which kept them in good company. But somehow the boys had notbroken away from young Tell and Jim. From childhood we had beenplaymates, and boyish ties are strong. This evening the two seemed to beburdened with something of which they dared not or would not speak.There was a sort of defiance about them, such as an enemy may assumetoward one who has been his friend, but whom he means to harm. Was itthe will of Providence made O'mie appeal to them at the right moment?
"Say, boys," he had a certain Celtic geniality, and a frank winningsmile that was irresistible. "Say, boys, all av the crowd's goin' tostand together no matter what comes, just as we've done since we learnedhow to swim in the shallows down by the Deep Hole. We're goin' to standshoulder to shoulder, an' we'll save this town from harm, whativer maycome in betwane, an' whoiver av us it's laid on to suffer, in the indwe'll win. For why? We are on the right side, an' can count on the samePower that's carried men aven to the inds av the earth to fight an' diefur what's right. Will ye be av us, boys? We've niver had no split inour gang yet. Will ye stay wid us?"
Tell and Jim looked at each other. Then Tell spoke. He had the rightstuff in him at the last test always.
"Yes, boys, we will, come what will come."
Jim grinned at Tell. "I'll stand by Tell, if it kills me," he declared.
We put little trust in his ability. It is the way of the world tooverlook the stone the Master Builder sometimes finds useful for Hispurpose.
"An' you may need us real soon, too," Tell called back as the two wentout.
"By cracky, I bet they know more 'n we do," Bud Anderson declared.
Dave Mead looked serious.
"Well, I believe they'll hold with us anyhow," he said. "What they knowmay help us yet."
The coming of another tremendous downpour sent us scampering homeward.O'mie and I had started up the hill together, but the underside of theclouds fell out just as we reached Judson's gate, and by the time we hadcome to Mrs. Whately's we were ready to dive inside for shelter. Whenthe rain settled down for an all-night stay, Mrs. Whately would wrap usagainst it before we left her. She put an old coat of Mr. Whately's onme. I had gone out in my shirt sleeves. Marjie looked bravely up at mytall form. I knew she was thinking of him who had worn that coat. Theonly thing for O'mie was Marjie's big water proof cloak. Theold-fashioned black-and-silver mix with the glistening black buttons,such as women wore much in those days. It had a hood effect, with achangeable red silk lining, fastened at the neck. To my surprise O'miemade no objection at all to wearing a girl's wrap. But I could neverfully forecast the Irish boy. He drew the circular garment round himand pulled the hood over his head.
"Come, Philip, me strong protector," he called, "let's be skiting."
At the door he turned back to Marjie and said in a low voice, "Phil willmistake me fur a girl an' be wantin' me to go flower-huntin' out on theWest Prairie, but I won't do it."
Marjie blushed like the June roses, and slammed the door after him. Amoment later she opened it again and held the light to show us thedripping path to the gate. Framed in the doorway with the light held upby her round white arm, the dampness putting a softer curl in everystray lock of her rich brown hair, the roses still blooming on hercheeks, she sent us away. Too young and sweet-spirited she seemed forany evil to assail her in the shelter of that home.
Late at night again the red light of the forge was crossed and re-crossedby those who moved about inside the shop. Aunt Candace and I had satlong together talking of the War, and of the raiding on the Kansasborder. She was a balm to my spirit, for she was a strong, fearlesswoman, always comforting in the hour of sorrow, and self-possessed inthe face of danger. I wonder how the mothers of Springvale could havedone without her. She decked the brides for their weddings, and tenderlylaid out the dead. The new-born babe she held in her arms, and dyingeyes looking back from the Valley of the Shadow, sought her face. Thatnight I slept little, and I welcomed the coming of day. When the morningdawned the world was flooded with sunshine, and a cool steady west windblew the town clear of mud and wet, the while the Neosho Valley wasthreshed with the swollen, angry waters.
With the coming of the sunshine the strangers disappeared. Nowhere allthat day were there any but our own town's people to be seen. Some ofthese, however, I knew afterwards, were very busy. I remember seeingConlow and Mapleson and Dodd sauntering carelessly about in differentparts of the town, especially upon Cliff Street, which was unusual forthem. Just at nightfall the town was filled with strangers again. Yeagerand his companion, who had been water-bound, returned with half a dozenmore to the Cambridge House, and other unknown men were washed in fromthe west. That night I saw the red light briefly. Then it disappeared,and I judged the shop was deserted. I did not dream whose head wasshutting off the light from me, nor whose eyes were peering in throughthat crevice in the wall. The night was peacefully beautiful, but itsbeauty was a mockery to me, filled as I was with a nameless anxiety. Ihad no reason for it, yet I longed for the return of Father Le Claire.He had not taken Jean with him, and I judged that the Indian was near ussomewhere and in the very storm centre of all this uneasiness.
At midnight I wakened suddenly. Outside, a black starless sky bent overa cool, quiet earth. A thick darkness hid all the world. Dead stillnesseverywhere. And yet, I listened for a voice to speak again that I wassure I had heard as I wakened. I waited only a moment. A quick rappingunder my window, and a low eager call came to my ears. I sprang up andgroped my way to the open casement.
"What's the matter down there?" I called softly.
"Phil, jump into your clothes and come down just as quick as you can."It was Tell Mapleson's voice, full of suppressed eagerness. "For God'ssake, hurry. It's life and death. Hurry! Hurry!"
"Run to the side door, Tell, and call Aunt Candace. She'll let you in."
I heard him make a plunge for the side door. By the time my aunt wakenedto open it, I was down stairs. Tell stood inside the hallway, white andhaggard. Our house was like a stone fort in its security, and AuntCandace had fastened the door behind him. She seemed a perfect tower ofstrength to me, standing there like a strong guardian of the home.
"Stop a minute, Tell. We'll save time by knowing what we are about.What's the matter?" My aunt's voice gave him self-control.
He held himself by a great effort.
"There's not a second to lose, but we can't do anythi
ng without Phil. Hemust lead us. There's been a plot worked up here for three nights inConlow's shop, to burn' every Union man's house in town. Preacher Doddand that stranger named Yeager and the other fellow that's been stayin'at the tavern are backin' the whole thing. The men that's been hanginground here are all in the plot. They're to lay low a little while, andat two o'clock the blazin's to begin. Jim's run to Anderson's andMead's, but we'll do just what Phil says. We'll get the boys togetherand you'll tell us what to do. The men'll kill Jim an' me if they findout we told, but we swore we'd stay by you boys. We'll help clearthrough, but don't tell on us. Don't never tell who told on 'em. Pleasedon't." Tell never had seemed manly to me till that moment. "They'reawful against O'mie. They say he knows too much. He heard 'em talkingtoo free round the stables. They're after you too, Phil. They think ifthey get you out of the way, they can manage all the rest. I heard oldDodd tell 'em to make sure of John Baronet's cub. Said you were theworst in town, to come against. They'll kill you if they lay hands onyou. They'll come right here after you."
"Then they'll go back without him," my aunt said firmly.
"They say the Indians are to come from the south at daylight," Tellhurried on, "an' finish up all that's left without homes. They're theKiowas. They'll not get here till just about daylight." Tell's teethwere chattering, and he trembled as with an ague.
"Worst of all,"--he choked now,--"Whately's home's to be left alone, andJean's to get Marjie and carry her off. They hate her father so, they'velet Jean have her. They know she was called over to Judson's late tostay with Mrs. Judson. He's away, water-bound, and the baby's sick, andjust as she gets home, he's to get her. If she screams, or tries to getaway, he'll scalp her."
I heard no more. My heart forgot to beat. I had seen Marjie's signallight at ten o'clock and I was sure of her safety. The candle turnedblack before me. The cry of my dreams, Irving Whately's pleading cry,rang in my ears: "Take care of Marjie, Phil! Keep her from harm!"
"Phil Baronet, you coward," Tell fairly hissed in my ear, "come and helpus! We can't do a thing without you."
I, a coward! I sprang to the door and with Tell beside me we sped awayin the darkness. A faint light glimmered in the Whately home. At thegate, Dave Mead hailed us.
"It's too late, boys," he whispered, "Jean's gone and she's with him.He rode by me like the devil, going toward the ford. They'll be drownedand that's better than for her to live. The whole Indian Territory maybe here by morning."
I lifted my face to the pitiless black sky above me, and a groan, theagony of a breaking heart, burst from my lips. In that instant, I livedages of misery.
"Oh, Phil, what shall we do? The town's full of helpless folks." Davecaught my arm to steady himself. "Can't you, can't you put us to work?"
Could I? His appeal brought me to myself. In the right moment the Lordsends us to our places, and forsakes us not until our task is finished.On me that night, was laid the duty of leadership in a great crisis; andHe who had called me, gave me power. Every Union household in the townmust be roused and warned of the impending danger. And whatever was donemust be done quickly, noiselessly, and at a risk of life to him who didit. My plan sprang into being, and Dave and Tell ran to execute it. In afew minutes we were to meet under the tavern oak. I dashed off towardthe Cambridge House. Uncle Cam had not yet gone to bed.
"Where's O'mie?" I gasped.
"I dunno. He flew in here ten minutes or more ago, but he never lit. Inten seconds he was out again an' gone. He's got some sense an' generallykeeps his red head level. I'm waitin' to see what's up."
In a word I gave Cam the situation, all except Jean's part. As I hurriedout to meet the boys at the oak, I stumbled against something in thedense darkness. Cam hastened after me. The flare of the light from theopening of the door showed a horse, wet and muddy to the throat latch.It stared at the light in fright and then dashed away in the darkness.
All the boys, Tell and Jim, the Meads, John, Clayton, and BudAnderson,--all but O'mie, met in the deep shadow of the oak before thetavern door. Our plans fell into form with Cam's wiser head to shapethem here and there. The town was districted and each of us took hisportion. In the time that followed, I worked noiselessly, heroically,taking the most dangerous places for my part. The boys rallied under myleadership, for they would have it so. Everywhere they depended on myword to direct them, and they followed my direction to the letter. Itwas not I, in myself, but John Baronet's son on whom they relied. Myfather's strength and courage and counsel they sought for in me. But allthe time I felt myself to be like a spirit on the edge of doom. I workedas one who feels that when his task is ended, the blank must begin. YetI left nothing undone because of the dead weight on my soul.
What happened in that hour, can never all be told. And only God himselfcould have directed us among our enemies. Since then I have always feltthat the purpose crowns the effort. In Springvale that night was a bandof resolute lawless men, organized and armed, with every foot of theirway mapped out, every name checked, the lintel of every Union doorwaymarked, men ready and sworn to do a work of fire and slaughter. Againstthem was a group of undisciplined boys, unorganized, surprised, andunequipped, groping in the darkness full of unseen enemies. But we werethe home-guard, and our own lives were nothing to us, if only we couldsave the defenceless.
The Price of the Prairie: A Story of Kansas Page 10