A TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW
In the morning White Buffalo was the first to awaken, and without
arousing the others, he started up the fire and put on some water to
boil. It was snowing and the new fall covered the old snow by several
inches.
"Phew! this is quite a storm!" cried Barringford, as he peered from the
shelter. "An' comin' down more yet, too," he added, with a look at the
dark sky.
"I hope we don't get snow-bound," was Rodney's comment, as he started
to boil what was left of the coffee. "We're not situated for anything
of that sort--unless we want to live on bear meat and venison."
"Be thankful we've got the meat, an' rabbits an' turkeys," said the
old frontiersman. "It's a heap sight better nor to be snow-bound with
nuthin' at all."
For breakfast they fixed up a pair of the rabbits, and these went very
well with the remainder of the coffee and the bread. The snow kept
coming down steadily, so they ate the meal under the protection of the
shelter. The wind had died down utterly, consequently it was not nearly
as cold as it had been.
"Do you think we ought to start for home in such a snow-storm as this?"
questioned Dave. "If it comes down any heavier we might lose our way."
"Humph! this ain't nuthin' to the snow-storm I got caught in the winter
I found them twins," said Sam Barringford. "I don't want none like thet
again, not me! We can get git home in this, right enough."
The storm the old frontiersman referred to had occurred two years
before. It had been little short of a blizzard, and while out in the
worst of it Barringford had come to a spot where a man and a horse lay
dead and partly devoured by the wolves. A bundle rested in a tree near
by, and much to the old frontiersman's amazement it contained two baby
boys, in all probability twins, by their close resemblance to each
other. With the bundle clasped to his breast the old hunter had tried
to fight his way through the blizzard to the Morris homestead, three
miles away. He had almost reached it when he found himself exhausted,
and had been rescued by James Morris and his brother Joseph. At the
cabin, the twins had been cared for by Mrs. Morris. Nothing could be
learned concerning their identity, or the identity of the man found
dead beside them, and they had at last been adopted by Barringford, who
was an old bachelor, and who called them Tom and Artie, after two of
his uncles. We shall learn more of these twins as our story proceeds.
About eleven o'clock there was a slight lull and Barringford announced
that they had better start without further delay. The others were
willing, and in a short space of time the camping spot was left behind,
and they were crossing the first of the hills which separated them from
the Morris homestead.
"This is the sort of storm to keep up for several days," observed
Rodney, and he was right, the fall of snow lasted for forty-eight hours
longer and made all the roads in that vicinity impassable for the time
being.
It was nightfall when they reached the Morris homestead, standing as
my old readers know, in the midst of a rather large clearing. It was a
rude but comfortable cabin, long, low, and narrow, with the back roof
sloping down to a kitchen porch. There were four fair-sized rooms, all
on the ground floor, and above them a loft used occasionally for a
sleeping room, and stored with seeds and with supplies for the winter.
Not far from the house was a rude shelter of logs and sods for the
cattle, back of which, in the summer time, flowed a gurgling brook of
the clearest spring water.
As they approached the cabin Dave and Rodney set up a loud shout. This
brought Joseph Morris from the cattle shed, and likewise brought Mrs.
Morris, little Nell, and the twins to the doorway of the homestead.
"Hullo! back again, eh?" sang out Joseph Morris. "Good enough. And Sam
and White Buffalo, too. Glad to see you once more."
"I didn't know you expected to be back from town so soon, father,"
answered Rodney.
"I had an accident that made me cut my trip short," answered Joseph
Morris. He limped forward. "Bess got frightened at a wildcat and threw
me over her head. In coming down my foot struck a sharp rock, and I
gave my ankle a bad twist."
"That's too bad," said Dave. "I hope the wildcat didn't trouble you."
"I didn't give him a chance. I had my old Spanish pistol with me, and I
blazed away at such a close range that I about blew the wildcat's head
off. I had a time getting home, I can tell you. Bess wouldn't come near
the dead cat, so I had to hobble after her the best I could for several
rods."
"Ye had better keep off the foot for a few days," put in Sam
Barringford. "A twisted ankle ain't nuthin' to fool with."
"I'm going to rest--now the boys are home again. But I couldn't let my
wife look after the cattle in such a storm as this," returned Joseph
Morris. He gazed at the drag and the various game bags. "A deer and a
bear, and rabbits and turkeys! You've had luck, that is certain."
"Yes, and a narrow escape in the bargain," answered Rodney.
The two young hunters passed toward the house, leaving the men to talk
the matter over between them. As they approached the twins set up a cry
of welcome and little Nell joined in.
"Uncle Davey tummin'!" cried one twin.
"Uncle Roddy tummin'!" echoed the other twin.
"Did you get a deer?" asked Nell, eagerly. She was a sweet-faced girl,
with dancing eyes, and curly hair that hung far down over her shoulders.
"Oh, Nell, you mustn't expect a deer every time," remonstrated her
mother. "I am glad to see you back, boys. I see you got some rabbits
and turkeys," and she gave each a warm smile.
"Yes, and we got the deer, too," added Rodney, with a touch of pride in
his tone. "But Dave is to be thanked for that."
"Nonsense," cried the youth mentioned. "Rodney had as much to do with
bringing him down as I did. But we got more than that, Aunt Lucy--that
is, the whole crowd did. Sam Barringford and White Buffalo are with us.
They stopped at the shed to talk to Uncle Joe."
"And what more did you get?" questioned little Nell, eagerly.
"A bear--a great big bear--one of the biggest ever shot around here."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mrs. Morris, while Nell shrank back, as
if half expecting bruin would come after her. "That was certainly luck.
I'm glad the bear didn't get _you_."
"He came close to it," said Dave, and after kicking the snow from his
feet, he entered the living room of the cabin and told his story, while
Rodney did the same. The latter was rather winded from his long tramp
through the snow and glad to sink down in his old chair by the open
fireplace and rest. Dave hung up the guns and powder horns, and placed
the small game in a pantry, and by that time the older men came up to
the door.
"That certainty is a big bear," was Mrs. Morris's comment.
"Oh, I'm almost afraid to go near him," said Nell, with a shudder.
"Think of being out in the woods all alone and meeting such a
creature!" And she shuddered again.
The twins, however, were not so fearful, and both ran out in wild
delight and climbed directly on top of the game. Sam Barringford caught
up first one and then the other and gave each a squeeze and a kiss,
which made them crow loudly.
"Nice Uncle Sam!" said each. "Love Uncle Sam!" And then he gave them
another kiss. In his way, the old frontiersman was as fond of the
children as if they were his own flesh and blood.
"White Buffalo did not bring his little lady any pappoose this time,"
said the Indian, when Nell greeted him.
"Never mind, I've got the other doll yet," answered Nell, and brought
it forth, dressed in a gown she had just been making. "Isn't it grand,
White Buffalo?" The old Indian chief had presented her with this doll
of his own making two years before.
"White Buffalo bring this for his little lady," and slowly and
cautiously he brought forth from under his heavy winter blanket several
strings of highly ornamental beads.
"Oh, how beautiful! How very, very beautiful!" screamed Nell, gazing at
the beads with wide-open eyes. "Oh, White Buffalo, are they really for
me, really and truly?"
"Yes. They belonged to White Buffalo's little cousin. But she is dead
and so are all of her folks, and so now they are to go to my little
lady, if she will have them."
"This is kind of you, White Buffalo," said Mrs. Morris. "As Nell says,
they are very beautiful."
"Then let her wear them, let her wear them always," returned the old
Indian chief, gravely. "Always," he added. His words meant much, as we
shall learn later.
As late as it was, Sam Barringford set to work to skin the bear, while
Dave performed the same operation on the deer. Then the carcasses were
hung up in the cold pantry, where they would be safe from molestation
by any wild beasts that might be prowling around. In the meanwhile Mrs.
Morris bustled about, preparing a hot supper for all.
Within the cabin, it was a picturesque and comfortable scene. The
walls were of rude logs plastered with clay to keep out the wind. The
fireplace was large and in it burned a back log six feet long and a
foot in diameter, and also several other smaller sticks. Over the fire
hung several pots and kettles, and on a spit a good-sized piece of meat
was broiling.
The furnishings of this little room were plain, for the first cabin
of the Morrises, that containing so many heirlooms of both families,
had been burned down by the Indians. There was a long table, without
a cloth, several chairs, and two good-sized benches, often called
puncheon benches, for they were made of split logs, smoothed off on the
upper side and held up by four props, or legs. There was also a shelf,
containing the family Bible, several books, and a few gazettes and
"almanacks." Back of the door was a loaded rifle, and a shotgun rested
on a pair of elk antlers not far away. In one corner stood a spinning
wheel, which Mrs. Morris used whenever she had time to do so. A rude
wooden box hanging close to the fireplace contained a few knives,
forks, spoons, and kindred things, and another shelf contained some
plates and bowls.
When the meal was ready, the boys and men washed, and all sat down at
the table. Joseph Morris said grace, and the food was passed around, so
that each might take whatever he wanted. Only White Buffalo waited to
be served by Mrs. Morris, and during the repast the Delaware said not a
word, nor did he open his mouth until after a "pipe of peace" had been
passed around by Mr. Morris, to himself and Sam Barringford.
"White Buffalo has been well received, his heart is glad," said the old
Indian to Mrs. Morris. This was all he ever said after dining at the
cabin, but his words had the ring of truth in them.
The meal over, all gathered around the fire, to talk over matters in
general, and to tell of their various experiences. Rodney was glad to
rest and retired early. Joseph Morris had to admit that his twisted
ankle hurt him not a little, and he bathed it with some liniment and
bound it up. When all of the others had withdrawn, Sam Barringford and
White Buffalo made themselves comfortable on the cabin floor before
the cheerful blaze. Outside the snow came down as thickly as ever,
and occasionally the rising wind swept mournfully through the tree
branches. As Dave turned over on his rude but comfortable couch, he was
glad he was home again and not out in the trackless forest with its
many perils.