“I see no course left then, but to proceed south, in the hope of falling in with some emigrant train, or in striking the Oregon trail, north, and getting into California ahead of them.”
“The Oregon trail will have to be our destination, then. If these fellows find they’ve got the start of us, they won’t give us a chance to come up again, and we might as well try to catch the whirlwind as to follow them. No; we must try the ready for them when they come. How far is the trail off?”
“It can’t be more than a day’s journey; the trail follows the Platte through Nebraska, and I’m pretty sure we can reach it by nightfall, if we proceed pretty steadily and rapidly.”
The day was clear and pleasant, and the sky devoid of the least signs of threatening storm. There were two or three white clouds straggling off in the western horizon, but the sky was of a deep clear blue. We were now proceeding in a northward direction, intending to strike the Platte at the nearest point. South, east, and west the small waving hills of the prairie stretched, unrelieved by the slightest object, except in the west the far-off outline of some mountain-peak was just visible, resembling a slight pointed cloud against the blue sky. This disappeared at noon, and we were again like wanderers upon the illimitable sea. A short time after, Nat’s keen vision detected a number of black, moving specks far to the westward.
“An emigrant train, perhaps,” I suggested.
“They’re Pawnee Injins as sure as the world, and we’d better give them a wide berth.”
“Pawnee Indians! How do you know that? You never have been in this section before?”
“That’s true, but you don’t s’pose I started out here without first larning something ’bout the country and folks, do you? If you do, you’re mighty mistaken. Just let me know in what part of the country we are, and I’ll let you know what sights you will see, that is, if we are going to see any at all. But let’s keep to the east; I don’t want to keep them Pawnees in sight.”
“The Pawnee Indians are reported friendly to the whites.”
“Exactly; but have they been reported honest? If they should come upon us and take a fancy to our rifles, what is there to prevent them from taking them? And,” added Nat, with a shrewd shake of his head. “I’ve not faith enough in their good intentions to want ’em in sight at this particular time.”
There was a great deal of reason in his remarks, and it was not unwillingly that I turned my face more to the northeast, and soon saw them disappear from view.
Some time toward the middle of the afternoon we descried a solitary buffalo ahead. He had apparently left his friends and wandered about as though entirely lost. After considerable difficulty we approached nigh enough to bring him down. He was quite poor, and his flesh was strong and Oregon trail, and get into California first, and be tough; but we were glad enough to get it, such as it was. He was thrown on his face, with his knees bent under him, a keen knife run along the spine with just sufficient force to penetrate the skin, which was then pulled down each side. This done, we cut the choice portions out. Nat reserved the buffalo-skin for his blanket, and the rest was thrown away. We made a hearty meal, and about the middle of the afternoon again set forward, hoping to accomplish quite a distance ere nightfall.
Just at dark we reached a stream of considerable size, which I afterward learned was the Republican Fork of Nebraska. The point at which we struck it, was about where it leaves the territory of Kansas and enters Nebraska. Although no considerable stream, we concluded not to cross it before morning, and we made arrangements for passing the night upon its banks. There was considerable timber at different points, and a goodly quantity of driftwood lay scattered along its banks. As the river was quite low, we gathered several armfuls, and had a fire soon started. We had brought some meat of the slain buffalo with us, but concluded not to cook supper, as our appetites were satiated.
Seated round our fire, half-hidden in a depression in the river bottom, with the dark, glistening stream flowing silently by, and smoking our pipes, we naturally fell into an easy conversation.
“We can’t be far from the ‘trail,’ can we?” asked Nat.
“Farther than I suspected,” I answered. “The Republican Fork, which I am convinced is the stream out there, is over fifty miles from the Platte, which, with several other streams must be crossed before the trail is reached.”
“Fudge! I don’t believe I can head off them fellows after all, and my old mare and overcoat will go to thunder.”
“They will go somewhere where you will never see them again.”
“I know I’m bound to lose ’em, and I shan’t think any more about them.”
“That’s the best plan, Nat. They are no great loss.”
“I sh’d like to know whether that greaser or fur agent took them though,” interrupted my friend, earnestly.
After this he fell into a fit of musing, and we remained silent for some time. When the fire had burnt low, I arose and replenished it. Nat looked anxiously at the roaring blaze, carrying ashes and cinders high in the air, and reflecting far out upon the dark river, and he remarked:
“Wonder if some Injins won’t see that.”
“I guess not. We are so low down the bank that I think it can be visible for no considerable distance upon the prairie, and the bend in the river fortunately saves us from view up or down the stream. The only point from which it would attract attention is directly across from us.”
“And it looks suspicious enough there,” repeated Nat, in a whisper, removing his pipe and gazing across the river.
It did indeed look gloomy, forbidding, and threatening. Our fire was nearly on the level with the water, which rolled darkly and noisily at our very feet; and when its crackling blaze arose higher than usual, the low face of the opposite shore was struck by the light. At such times I could not help reflecting what favorable chances were afforded any foe who might be lurking opposite. I involuntarily shrunk from the fire, and felt relieved when the shore blended with the darkness.
It began to grow quite late, the fire had smoldered low, when Nat, removing his cap, turned upon me with:
“What do you think of our journey to California?”
I was at a loss to comprehend his meaning, and looked at him for an explanation.
“I mean to ask whether you feel in such a hurry to get to mines as you did when we were in Independence?”
Now, to confess the truth, the experience of the last week or two, and especially of the last two days, had done much toward dampening the ardor which I once thought could never leave me; and I believe, had I possessed moral courage enough, I should have seized the first opportunity to return to the comforts of a home, where I possessed enough to satisfy any sensible person’s ambition. Still I hesitated to commit myself.
“I cannot say that I am; but what induced you to—”
“I’m sick of this business,” interrupted Nat, lengthening his legs with a spiteful jerk, and looking disgustedly into the fire.
“What has come over you?” I asked, half-amused at his manner.
“Well there’s that mare—”
“But you promised not to think of her.”
“How can I help it, I should like to know? She’s gone sure, and there’s that overcoat, that cost me four dollars and a half in Lubec;and Alminy made a big pocket in it on purpose for me to fill full of gold chunks; and I should like to know how I am going to do it, when a Greaser has got it.”
“I am afraid that that would not be the only difficulty you would be likely to experience, Nat, in getting it filled.”
“And my jack-knife was in the coat-pocket, I declare!” exclaimed he, suddenly starting up and pinching alternately one pocket and then another. “Yes, sir, that’s gone, too; that’s worse than all the rest,” he added, despairingly, falling upon his elbow, and gazing abstractedly into the fire.
“That’s a trifling loss, surely, as you have your hunting-knife.”
“I’ve a good notion to get up and go back now,” h
e added, not heeding my remark. “I’m sick of this business. It’s bad enough to lose the mare, but when the knife is gone I can’t stand it.”
I knew this was but a momentary despondency with my friend, and for the sake of whiling away the time before sleep, I was inclined to humor it.
“But what will you do for that gold that you was going to buy Deacon Hunt’s farm with for your Alminy?”
“Let her go without it,” he answered, gruffly, without removing his gaze from the fire. “She can get along without it. I believe she onlycoaxed me to go off to Californy to get me out of the way, so that mean Bill Hawkins might take my place. If he does come any such game, he’ll catch it when I get back.”
I laughed deeply, but silently, as I witnessed his appearance at these remarks. It was so earnest and feeling, that it was impossible to resist its ludicrousness.
“Nat,” said I, after a moment’s thought, in which my mind had taken an altogether different channel, “I am free to own that I have little faith in our success in California. I left home in a flush of excitement, without considering the consequences of such a rash step, and they are now beginning to present themselves. I propose that we seek our fortune elsewhere. The fact that gold exists in California is now known all over the world, and we know there is not the remotest corner of her territory which is not swarming with hundreds who leave no means untried to amass their fortunes. I have no desire to wrangle and grope with them, and would much rather seek wealth elsewhere.”
“But where else?”
“If gold exists in one spot on the Pacific coast, it is right to suppose it exists in many others, and what is to prevent our finding it?”
“Have you thought of any place?”
“It seems to me that in Oregon, among the spurs of the Rocky Mountains, there must be fabulous quantities of the precious metal.”
“But why hasn’t it been found?”
“Oregon is thinly settled, and no suspicion has led them to search for it.”
“Well, let us dream upon it.”
A few more fagots were forthwith heaped upon the fire, and then we lay down for the night’s rest.
My companion had lain but a minute, when he suddenly sprang to his feet, and exclaimed:
“Hurrah for Oregon!”
“Be careful,” I admonished; “your indiscretion may be fatal. That wall of darkness across the river looks gloomy and threatening enough to me.”
“It does—hello! I’m shot—no, I ain’t, neither.”
That instant the report of a rifle burst from the other bank, and the bullet whizzed within an inch of my companion’s face.
“Heavens! are we attacked!” I ejaculated, starting back from the fire.
“I believe so,” replied Nat, cowering behind me.
We listened silently and fearfully, but heard no more. The fire smoldered to embers, the river grew darker, and the night, moonless and cold, settled upon us. But no sleep visited my eyelids that night. Till the gray dawn of morning I listened, but heard no more.
CHAPTER II
A New Friend
As the light of morning overspread the stream and prairie, I felt an unspeakable sense of relief. Not a moment of sleep had visited me that night, although Nat’s extreme fear toward midnight gave way to his drowsiness, and he slept long and heavily.
“Come, wake up, Nat!” said I, shaking him as soon as I saw that day was at hand.
“How? what’s the matter?” said he, rubbing his eyes, and gaping confusedly about him.
“Day is at hand, and we must be on our way to Oregon.”
He hastily rose, and we commenced our simple preparations. I ran up the river bank, and swept the prairie to the south of us to satisfy myself that no wandering Indians were in sight. The whole plain was visible, and with a feeling akin to joy, I reported the fact to Nat. He, however, was not satisfied with my survey, as he had more than once before detected objects that had escaped my vision, and he ascended a high roll in the bank, some distance up, and took a long, careful, scrutinizing sweep of the whole horizon. Feeling satisfied that he would be no more rewarded for his pains than I was, I started the fire, and commenced cooking some of our buffalo, I had been engaged in this for a minute or so, when I heard Nat call, in a hoarse, anxious, half-whisper:
“Come here, quick!”
I hurried to his side and eagerly asked him the cause of agitation.
“Why, just look yonder, if that ain’t enough to agitate one, then I don’t know what is.”
He pointed across the river, out upon the prairie; and following the direction of his finger, I saw not more than a mile or two away a single horseman proceeding leisurely from us.
“Who can that be?” I asked half to myself, still watching the receding figure.
“Why he’s the one that sent that bullet across the water after us, and I’m thinking it’s lucky for him, he’s going another way. If I should get my hands on him, he would remember the time.”
And Nat extended his arms energetically, and shook his head spitefully by way of emphasizing his remark.
I continued gazing after the unknown person. At first I supposed it was an Indian, but at that distance, and with his back toward us, it was almost impossible to judge accurately. A moment’s thought convinced me that it was a white man. I could make out the hunting-cap of the trapper, and was soon satisfied he belonged to that class. His horse was walking leisurely along, and he seemed totally unaware of the proximity of strangers.
But who could it be? Was it he who had fired the well-nigh fatal shot? And what meant his actions in thus willfully leaving us? These and similar questions I asked myself, without taking my eyes from him, or heeding the numerous questions and remarks my companion was uttering. But, of course, I could give no satisfactory solution, and when his figure had grown to be but a dim speck in the distance, I turned to Nat.
“We may see him again; but, if I don’t know him, I know one thing, I’m wonderfully hungry just now.”
We partook of a hearty breakfast, my appetite for which was considerably weakened by the occurrence just narrated. Without much difficulty we forded the Republican Fork, being compelled only to swim a few strokes in the channel, and reached the opposite side, with dry powder and food.
Here we made a careful search of the shore, and ascertained enough to settle beyond a doubt the identity of the horseman with the would-be assassin of the night before. His footprints could be seen, and the place where he had slept upon the ground, together with the scraps of meat. By examining the tracks of his horse, we discovered that both hind feet were shod; this decided our question of his being a white man; and although it cleared up one doubt, left us in a greater one. He could not have avoided the knowledge that we were of the same blood, and what demoniacal wish could lead him to seek the life of two harmless wanderers? Be he who he might, it was with no very Christian feelings toward him that we took the trail of his horse, and pursued it.
Our course after the first five miles, swerved considerably to the northwest. From the actions of the stranger, it was evident he understood the character of the country, and we judged the shortest way of reaching the Oregon trail would be by following him. The footprints of his animal were distinctly marked, and we had no difficulty in keeping them.
At noon we forded a stream, and shortly after another, both considerably less than the Republican Fork. On the northern bank of the latter, were the still glowing coals of the stranger’s camp-fire, and we judged he could be at no great distance. The country here was of a slightly different character from the rolling prairie over which we had journeyed thus far. There were hills quite elevated, and, now and then, groves of timber. In the river bottoms were numerous cottonwoods and elder; these natural causes so obstructed our view, that we might approach our unknown enemy very nigh without knowing it. Nat was quite nervous, and invariably sheered off from the forbidding groves of timber, striking the trail upon the opposite side at a safe distance.
In thi
s way we traveled onward through the entire day. No signs of Indians were seen, and we anticipated little trouble from them, as they were friendly at this time, and the most they would do would be to rob us of some of our trinkets or rifles.
At sundown we left our guiding trail and struck off toward a small stream to camp for the night. When we reached it, and decided upon the spot, Nat remarked seriously:
“I say, Relmond, that feller might be near enough to give us another shot afore morning, and I’m going to see whether his trail crosses the brook out there or not.”
So saying, he wheeled and ran back to the spot where we had left it. It was still bright enough to follow it, and bending his head down to keep it in view, he continued upon a rapid run. I was upon the point of warning him against thus running into danger, but not feeling much apprehension for his safety, I turned my back toward him. A minute after, I heard his footsteps again, and, looking up, saw him coming with full speed toward me, his eyes dilated to their utmost extent, and with every appearance of terror.
“He’s there!” he exclaimed.
“Where?” I asked, catching his excitement.
“Just across the stream up there; I liked to have run right into him afore I knowed it. See there!”
As Nat spoke, I saw the glimmering of a fire through the trees, and heard the whinny of a horse.
“Didn’t he see you?”
“Yes, I know he did. When I splashed into the water like a fool, he looked up at me and grunted; I seen him pick up his rifle, and then I put, expecting each moment to feel a ball in me.”
“I thought you intended laying hands on him if an opportunity offered,” I remarked, with a laugh.
“I declare, I forgot that,” he replied, somewhat crestfallen.
After some further conversation, I decided to make the acquaintance of the person who had occupied so much of our thoughts. Nat opposed this, and urged me to get farther from him; but a meaning hint changed his views at once, and he readily acquiesced. He would not be prevailed upon, however, to accompany me, but promised to come to my aid if I should need help during the interview. So leaving him, I started boldly up the stream.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 115