Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: THE SURPRISE.]
[Illustration: THE FRONTIER SERIES—Illustrated
The YOUNG PIONEERS, BOSTON, LEE & SHEPARD.]
_THE FRONTIER SERIES_
——————————
THE
YOUNG PIONEERS
OF
THE NORTH-WEST.
BY
DR. C. H. PEARSON
AUTHOR OF "THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED._
BOSTON 1890
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
10 MILK STREET NEXT "THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE"
NEW YORK CHAS. T. DILLINGHAM
718 AND 720 BROADWAY
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
LEE AND SHEPARD,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.
CONTENTS.
————
CHAPTER
I. THE FAIRY OF THE FORT.—PLEASURE AND SORROW.
II. A RIDERLESS PONY.—THE BUFFALO WALLOW.
III. THE FLIGHT FROM THE WIGWAM.—INDIAN WATCH-DOGS.
IV. THE TRAGEDY ON THE RIVER.
V. THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK.—AUNT ESTHER, THE IMMIGRANT.
VI. THE IMMIGRANT WAGON.
VII. BURR-OAK CIDER.
VIII. TOM'S RIDE CONTINUED.—THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER.—SINGULAR ADVENTURE.
IX. HOG'S BACK.—THE SOLITARY HORSEMAN.
X. A NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE.—DANGER.
XI. A PIONEER BOY'S OPINION OF THE EAST.—DISAPPOINTMENT.
XII. THE DWARF'S DISCOVERY.—BRAIN OR BONE.
XIII. A STRANGE VISITOR.—THE MAN IN THE CHIMNEY CORNER.
XIV. SECOND IMPRESSIONS.—AUNT ESTHER AND THE PLOUGHMEN.
XV. ONE SWALLOW DOES NOT MAKE A SUMMER.—TRIBULATIONS OF A FAT MAN.
XVI. FRANKIE'S SECRET.—THE INVISIBLE PURSUER.
XVII. GRUBBING.—HONEST MR. GREY.
XVIII. JOHN TOWER'S TOWN.—A WEDDING TOUR.
XIX. THE WRONG CABIN.—THE COUPLE UNDER THE UMBRELLA.
XX. THE CIRCLE IN THE LODGE.-WAKAN'.
XXI. AUNT ESTHER'S TROUBLE.—THE LAMP IN THE WINDOW.
XXII. AN INDIAN LOVER.—THE MAGIC MOCCASONS.
XXIII. FOREBODINGS.—SHINGLING THE CABIN.
XXIV. THE SILENT BOATMEN.
XXV. THE CAPTIVE MAIDEN.
XXVI. A BIRD-SONG IN THE NIGHT.
XXVII. BLACK NANCY SHOUTS.—A DREAM.—THE TWO SAVAGES.
XXVIII. THE MYSTERY OF THE MOCCASONS.—THE MAN WITH THE LANTERN.
THE YOUNG PIONEERS.
———————
CHAPTER I.
THE FAIRY OF THE FORT.—PLEASURE AND SORROW.
"WHY don't he come?" And Alice McElroy's fingers glided impatiently
over the keys of the piano-forte.
She glanced again into the square below. There stood pony, saddled and
bridled, pawing the paved court, restlessly awaiting the presence of
his young mistress.
The morning was superb—a cloudless Minnesota sky of intensest blue, the
air dry, balmy, bracing, delicious, the velvet green of the immense
prairie prismatic with glistening dewdrops.
As the fair-browed maiden skipped to the other side of the fort
building, and gazed from the window upon the scene, she drank in its
wondrous beauty with a wild delight.
The frontier fortress was built on a swell of land remarkable for
prairie land. One would think that nature designed it for just such a
structure as crowned it with the murderous munitions of war. Strange
that in the heart of that vast savanna there should rise a huge mound,
or half hill, of height and circumference sufficient to command the
entire wide-stretching landscape. Over this flower-enamelled plain,
sloping from the fort on every side to the arching horizon, the
kindling eye of the young girl wandered with worshipful enthusiasm.
"I shall wait no longer!" she exclaimed, decisively. "Charley has been
set to some task, I warrant, and there's no guessing when he'll get
through. What's the use of always having a 'boy' escort. As if I cannot
take care of myself! There are no Indians about now. I shall go alone
for once. Pony is as good company as I wish."
And tripping down stairs, and out into the court, she mounted her
miniature steed. There was a clattering of dainty hoofs, and she was
flying across the plain.
These early morning rides were Alice McElroy's special pleasure.
Horseback exercise on the open prairie had been prescribed by the fort
physician on account of the delicacy of her constitution, and the
cough, which though slight and inconstant, gave him, of late, some
concern.
But never before had she gone without an attendant. And as Mrs. Jones
discharged the duties of governess to the McElroy children, Alice
and Willie, and she knew her own son Charley to be brave, manly, and
discreet beyond his years, he was often detailed to accompany Alice.
As we have seen, Alice expected Charley to attend her on this occasion.
But as he did not promptly make his appearance, glad to assert her
independence, she ventured without him.
The truth is, Alice, although affectionate and noble, was towards
Charley petulant and innocently imperious at times. What queer
creatures girls are, indeed! Mr. Jones, with his family, occupied a
log cabin near Spirit Lake at the time of the fearful Indian uprising,
and Charley distinguished himself there by his romantic adventures and
heroic conduct—a mere lad that he was. He was, therefore, petted by the
soldiers, and fairly doted on by Alice's mother and General McElroy,
commander of the forces at the Fort.
Alice also liked him as a playmate, and admired his fine qualities. But
to have a "boy" for guide and protector on her prairie expeditions, and
she a young lady in her teens, "what an idea!"
With an exuberant sense of freedom from restraint, and of superiority
to juvenile guardianship, Alice dashed along, now putting pony to a
round trot, now to a full gallop, then resting the reins on his glossy
neck, permitting him to take his own way—just as she was doing with so
much comfort to herself.
Between pony and rider there was perfect sympathy. An intelligence
and devotion almost human characterized the wee horse. It was a rare
animal,—a thorough-bred specimen of a species once famous but now
nearly or quite extinct in this country,—for which the general paid a
fabulous sum, presenting him as a birthday gift to his only daughter
for her sole use.
Never was beast better loved and treated. Winding her white arms around
his curved neck, she would talk to him as if he understood each word.
And are we certain he did not? You could not make Alice think him so
stupid. She fed him with dainties from the table, and plucked for his
mouth the sweetest grass-tufts. And her voice, her step, her hand were
"all the world" to him.
How pony drooped with failing appetite when for three weary weeks his
gentle little mistress lay sick! When, convalescing, she was supported
to the window, it was affecting to watch him as he waited beneath the
sill for the feeble word of recognition from her pallid lips. And when
she first stepped out of doors, pony rushed frantically to her side,
and would not be pacified, despite the outcries and protestations of
the frightened nurse, until she repeated his name and caressingly laid
her soft hand on his forehead.
Pony took short steps, but nimble, and got over the ground much faster
than some longer limbed coursers I have seen. He liked so to go—no
working one's passage, whip or spur-wise, with him.
Doubtless high feeding and light work has much to do with the muscular
thrill of speed experienced by the well-handled and mettlesome steed.
But the loved form on pony's back, so graceful and unburdensome, full
of glee, praised and patted him, and encouraged his best efforts. And
away, away he sped, the fairy rider's eyes sparkling and cheeks abloom,
and wavy silken tresses floating on the breeze, as they skimmed along,
unmindful alike of distance and of time.
Alice McElroy gave a sudden start, when at length she descried just
before her a piece of woods. Had she ridden so far? She saw no trees
from the fort, only commingled grass and flowers extending like a sea
of verdure to the bending sky. But pony was sweating. How nice, she
thought, to rest a while in the leafy shade, before returning!
Riding in among the trees, she stopped the horse a moment, listened and
gazed about, to be sure no danger was near. How silent the sheltering
retreat! Not a sound broke the pervasive stillness, save a plaintive
bird chirrup in the dim solitude.
"O, isn't it perfectly lovely!" she ejaculated. "And yonder's a river.
How clear and smooth the water is! And what splendid flowers,—there's
the cardinal flower, if I live,—magnificent! Now, pony," she added,
dismounting, and leaving the reins loose, "you just get cool,—don't
wander off,—mind, now, while I gather a bouquet for darling mother and
my dear good governess; then we'll start for home."
At which pony, with contented air, fell to nibbling the grass,
displaying his nice taste by nipping, too, a bright blossom now and
then, out of regard, perhaps, to Alice. And she, with an occasional
glance at him to be positive he staid near, strolled by the river brink
culling flowers. They grew in tempting profusion, and she soon had a
bountiful store. And reclining on the yielding moss, among the feathery
ferns, she began to arrange the wild-springing beauties.
"Perfectly beautiful!" she murmured. "Won't mother and Mrs. Jones be
surprised when they learn how far pony and I have been to-day all
alone!"
"Pony, are you there? Yes, I see you now. You're a dear good pony! How
much nicer it is to ride all alone! One can do just as one pleases.
Besides, Charley is so boyish! There's Tom, now," and a slight flush
crept to her temples; "how grand it was, his pushing off the cliff that
horrible savage that was creeping up to murder him!"
At this point she stopped soliloquizing, and hummed to herself a while.
"Yes, Tom's studying to be a minister. I suppose he wouldn't 'dare' to
play as Charley does. Soldiers can play, but ministers must pray." Then
she laughed. "I shouldn't like to do nothing but preach, and pray, and
think about another world, about preparing to die. Death is frightful;
though, if one is good enough to go to heaven, and 'old'—but I'm only—"
A slight rustling of the bushes snapped the thread of her musing. A
heavy hand was laid on her shoulder; she glanced backward. A hideous
savage bent over her.
The blood seemed to freeze in her veins at the sight. She attempted
to scream, but the sound died on her lips. Her eyes became fixed and
glassy.
The Indian's face wore a fiendish expression, as he held his tomahawk
above her head. She tried to fall on her knees and beg for mercy.
Then Indian, trees, water, swam confusedly round. Her eyes closed in
darkness and insensibility.
The savage for a moment looked down upon the rigid features of the
white girl as if undecided whether to strike or not. That doubt
arrested the descending weapon. Something connected with her dress
caught his attention.
"Ugh," he grunted, and, stooping, detached from her belt a shining gold
chain and locket, the latter containing the likeness of her mother.
This appeared to turn the current of his intentions; for taking the
girl in his arms, he bore her a short distance up the river side,
dragged a canoe from out the thick shrubbery, placed her in it, gave
it a quick running push, and dexterously jumping in after, paddled the
light boat along.
When Alice recovered her consciousness, she found herself lying alone
in the bottom of a canoe, and an ugly-featured Indian sitting in front
of her.
At first she deemed it a dream. Then, bewildered, she rubbed her eyes
with her hands to be certain she was awake. Soon, like lightning flash,
the horror of her condition broke in upon her mind. In a frenzy of
fear, she roused herself to attempt escape.
"Squaw, keep still!" spoke the Indian, angrily. "Think swim, run, get
'way? No. Water deep. Injun killee you!"
"Dear, good Indian," pleaded the terrified girl, "don't kill me. Take
me back; let me go home, and father 'll give you—"
"Squaw speak no one word more!" grunted the savage, with an ominous
look.
O, the agony of that moment to the captive! How she wrestled with her
emotions, striving not to provoke her fierce captor by unavailing
outcries!
Crouching in the swift-moving, fragile craft as it shot through the
dim woods, now hidden by the pendent branches, now lighted by ruddy
sunbeams, hurried on to what fate she knew not, minutes were as ages.
By and by they came to shoal water. The Indian now laid his paddle in
the bottom of the canoe, and employed a long pole to propel with. Soon
he stranded the airy vessel, and ordered her to get out. Easily lifting
the canoe on his shoulders, and driving her before him, they tramped a
long way through the woods, away from the water.
At last, they came to a spot not covered with trees. Back of it, and
somewhat remote, was a line of smoke rising, indicative of an Indian
village.
But the Indian did not take her there. Turning to the left, they struck
into the forest again, continuing their journey till they reached an
old tumble-down wigwam. Entering, he pointed Alice to a corner, took
from a pouch at his side a thick piece of smoked venison, tore on a
strip with his teeth, handed it to Alice, saying,—
"Squaw hungry; eat!"
Alice was faint from fear and fasting, but too wretched to partake of
the untempting food. Dreading, however, to arouse his resentment, she
tasted a morsel, and concealed the remainder.
When night fell, her captor stretched himself on the ground in his
blanket, near the entrance to the wigwam, and was shortly asleep.
O, the long, long watch that night to Alice! She could not sleep. The
heavy snoring of the savage in the gloomy wigwam, the hooting of the
screech-owl and howling of the wolf without, the tumult of fright,
grief, and foreboding within her throbbing breast, thoughts of her
father's and mother's distress because of her prolonged and mysterious
absence,—under these circumstances, her eyes were as wide open as
if they never could close again, and her brain active well nigh to
insanity.
She was still awake when the pioneer streaks of morning penetrated
the hut. After a while the savage bestirred himself, arose, lighted a
filthy pipe, seated himself in front of her, cross-legged, and smoked
in grim silence.
With sharpened intuitions, Alice studied his physiognomy, to discover,
if possible, some human quality to which she might appeal. But the
paint-streaked copper-face staring stolidly at her, though evidently
that of a youngish warrior, was repulsive and malignant in the extreme.
"Where am I?" gasped the girl, at length, with clasped hands.
"In wigwam," laconically replied her captor.
"Yes," answered Alice, startled at the sound of her own voice, "but, I
mean, how far from the fort?"
"Twenty, fifty, 'hunderd' mile; big way; no git back, never!"
"O, do carry me there," cried she. "You shall have money, anything. My
father is General McElroy; he'll pay you all you ask, and more too!"
But at mention of her father's name, a terrible scowl corrugated the
brow of the savage, and, emitting great puffs of smoke, he muttered,—
"Injun no do it. White chief kill Injuns, many!"
Alice poured forth a flood of entreaties, sobbing heart-brokenly.
The savage drew his scalping-knife, bent a threatening gaze on her, and
said,—
"Squaw hold tongue; Injun cuttee out!"
And the girl was silent and hopeless, but shook with an "aguish"
terror, her sad eyes fixed on her captor, full of anguish and
supplication more moving than speech.
The Indian puffed serenely at his pipe a while longer, then putting
it by, drew from his dirty pouch more dried meat, and tossing her
a portion, commanded her to eat. This time, half famished, she
obeyed, which appeared to please her captor, who, after regarding her
intently, as if deciding a matter of importance concerning her, said,
peremptorily,—
"Squaw stay in wigwam!" and disappeared in the woods.
Alice, with beating heart, watched the fading figure of the savage till
lost to view.
Where was he going? How soon would he come back? When he reappeared,
what would be her destiny? If he did not return, what then? Alone in
the wilderness, without food or fire, and no means of procuring either!
It was frightful to expect his return, and starvation if he staid away.
The appalling novelty of her position brought into ascendency a new
class of feelings. She had a bright intellect, and military blood
coursed in her veins. Reason and courage reasserted themselves.
"If I perish, I will do so trying to escape," she resolved.
And strong in this purpose, and buoyant with a sensation of freedom now
that the Indian was away, in her eagerness she ran into the forest.
But suddenly stopping, she pressed her hand to her forehead in deep
thought.
Which way should she go? Grave question that.
Sinking to her knees, and whispering an earnest prayer for guidance
and protection, she hurried into the hut, picked up the venison she
threw away the night before, and set out on her perilous and uncertain
undertaking.