A SHADOW OVER THE HOMESTEAD
THERE was no such thing as catching Dick unprepared. No doubt he had
before now considered just what should be done in such an emergency.
Even while the excited Roger was speaking, Dick had acted. Of course
the only thing that could be done in order to give the descending bear
a fright was to fire a shot into his hindquarters at close range. No
bear could stand that, Dick felt certain. The only thing that gave the
boy cause for concern was that the animal might have pushed into the
opening so far that, in his alarm, he would lose his grip above, and
come down upon them, crushing both under his weight.
The report of Dick's rifle sounded like a peal of thunder. There was a
tremendous clawing noise above, and, for a brief interval, Dick's heart
was in his throat.
Then the clawing ceased inside the hollow tree, and, at the same time,
Roger's voice rang out.
"He's climbed out in a bigger hurry than he came in, Dick! You gave
him a pain that time. He must think hornets have built a nest in his
old den, and you won't get that smart bear coming back here in a hurry
again. There, I heard him strike the ground! Perhaps you hit him harder
than you meant to, Dick, and we might get him for the larder, if we
wanted!"
"Not much chance of that when I had only his hindquarters to shoot
into," the other declared; "but, all the same, he's skipped out, and
taken to the woods. What's a little rain to a furry coat like his,
after sleeping all winter? But one thing is sure, Roger, the rain is
slackening up."
"Yes," added the other, "and the wind, too; for it doesn't howl as it
did. But, let me tell you, I'm glad that thunder doesn't growl so much
now. When that loud crash came I got a bad scare, because I thought how
lightning likes to pick out a big oak like this, and splinter it from
top to bottom."
"You wouldn't have known what hurt you, if it had struck this tree; and
there's a little satisfaction in that, Roger. But, when I get my gun
loaded, I mean to climb up, and take an observation."
"How lucky that we've got that rope to help out," remarked Roger; "for
the inside of this old tree feels as smooth as anything, because the
bear has clawed his way up and down so many times. We would have had a
hard job getting up, only for that."
"Oh! there are ways, if you only bother thinking them out," observed
the other boy. "With two of us down here, one could climb on the
shoulders of the other and, after he got out, help his comrade with his
hands. Oh! you're off, are you? I wondered if you would wait, and let
me go first for a change. But, now that you're half-way up, keep right
on, and tell me how things look to you. Be careful how you poke your
head out, because, after all, the bear might be waiting for us."
Roger had little difficulty in reaching the opening. He was so nimble
that he could climb any tree like a monkey; but, remembering the
warning of his cousin, he tried to take an observation before thrusting
his head out.
"All clear, here, Dick!" he called, joyfully; "you gave him a scare,
let me tell you--chances are he's running yet. And better still, the
clouds have broken across the river, for, would you believe it, the
sun's peeping out! Better come up, as the rain's stopped now."
That was good news for the boy in the hollow tree, and he lost no time
in following his companion. Presently both were perched upon the wet
limbs, looking around.
"You wounded the bear, Dick, for, see, here are blood marks on the
bark," cried Roger, pointing as he spoke.
"Which I am sorry for," was the reply, "because I never like to hurt an
animal unless I want him for food. And we couldn't think of trying to
follow the trail of the bear at this late hour. Mother might be worried
if we didn't come home by dark, after such a sudden storm. So let's
head back to the boat, and, if the waves have gone down enough, we'll
push out for the other bank."
"Whew! did you ever see such big bear tracks, Dick?" exclaimed Roger,
as he bent down to examine the imprints. "The chances are, now, we'll
never set eyes on anything to beat that in all our lives again;" but,
when the boy made that statement, and believed what he was saying, too,
he could not possibly foresee the time when he and his cousin would
look upon the distant Rocky Mountains, just then almost unknown to
white men, and view that greatest of all bears, the terrible grizzly of
the foothills. Yet that experience was before them, and nearer than any
one could dream.
"Come on, we had better be in a hurry, Roger," the other called out;
"because already it is getting pretty close to sunset, and with so many
clouds overhead, darkness is apt to come along soon afterwards. And you
know it isn't safe upon the big river after night sets in."
They were quickly at the little cove where the dugout had been left,
and, much to their satisfaction, they found everything all right.
"I'm glad that bear didn't get a scent of our fish while he was
hurrying home," Dick remarked.
"That's so," the other boy added, "because we happen to know how hungry
they are for fish, lots of times. Didn't we see one scoop a fish out
with his paw, once, as he squatted on a log that ran down into the
water? But are we going to risk it out there on the river just yet,
Dick?"
"It looks pretty rough, I declare; but the waves are going down every
minute, so we had better wait a while. Given half an hour, and we
ought to be able to cross. The longer we can hold off, the easier our
passage will be."
"I suppose it's no use throwing out a line again?" mused Roger, whose
passion for fishing could never be wholly satisfied.
"Not after such a heavy rain, and with the river rising as it is,
Roger. You know enough about fish to remember that they never bite
after a rain that washes all sorts of feed into the river, and muddies
the water so. Here, we can sit down on this rock, and talk a little."
"Yes, and Dick, I know that you have something on your mind that's been
worrying you all day. More than once I've come near asking what ailed
you, and then I held my tongue for fear I might offend. And at our
house I notice that father and mother seem worried, too, for they often
stop talking when I come in, and look confused, as if they didn't want
me to know what was wrong. Now, if you know, tell me. We're pretty well
grown, and ought to take some of the burdens on our shoulders, it seems
to me."
"Well spoken, Roger, and shake hands with me on that!" exclaimed the
older lad, while his sober face lighted up with a mingling of regard
for his cousin, and delight over hearing these words spring from his
heart. "Yes, you are right, we _are_ old enough to be taken into the
councils of our parents; and my father has thought the same, for he
told me the nature of the gloom that seems to be hanging over the whole
little Armstrong settlement of late."
"And will you tell me, Dick?" demanded the other, eagerly, while a
look akin to resolution flashed over his handsome face. Roger was his
father in his younger years over again; a real "chip of the old block,"
gentle-hearted, brave, and with only the fault of recklessness to mar
his good record.
Sandy Armstrong in early life had taken as his model that sterling
young borderer known in the history of the "dark and bloody ground,"
Kentucky, as Daniel Boone's most beloved helper, Simon Kenton; and, as
their natures were very much alike, the reason for his admiration had
always been very evident.
"Yes," Dick went on to say, bravely, "because my father said he thought
both of us should know; not that he had any idea we could do anything
to help; but, if the blow fell, we might be better prepared to stand
it."
"Blow fell!" repeated the other, in sheer astonishment, while his ruddy
face lost a little of its color; "why, what can you mean, Dick? Are
the Indians going on the warpath; or has that precious wampum belt been
lost again, as father told me once happened when he was a boy?"[4]
"No, it is nothing like that, Roger," replied the other. "It concerns
the title to the property our parents bought years ago, and which has
been our home all of our lives, up to now."
"Why, you surprise me, Dick! They bought it, I have heard, from the
French traders who owned the section across the river, the pick of the
land above the St. Louis settlement."
"Yes, that is a fact, Roger; but it seems that there is some sort of
defect in the title, and an old French trader, François Lascelles by
name, with his grown son, Alexis, has threatened to turn us out of our
homes by the first of next year, unless we make a new settlement with
him, and purchase the ground for a second time. It seems, however, that
there is just one way by which the land may be saved."
"Oh! I am glad to hear that; and if there is anything that I can do,
only tell me, and see how quickly I will do it. But it would nearly
kill my mother to lose the farm now, because she loves the place so
much. Now, tell me what that one thing is."
"Listen. It seems that there is a man whose signature to certain
papers is necessary in order to keep this rascal of a Frenchman from
seizing the property by the first of next year. His name is Jasper
Williams, and he is a hunter and scout very much like Daniel Boone, the
friend of our parents. Both your father and mine have been to great
trouble trying to locate this man, and, Roger, think of the bitter
disappointment that overwhelmed them upon discovering a few days ago
that he is far away in the unknown West, but expects to join the Lewis
and Clark exploration party that started out many weeks ago, bound
to cross prairies and mountains, and rivers and lakes if necessary,
until they finally set eyes on the Pacific Ocean, which we know lies
hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles away from the Mississippi."
Roger shook his head, as if overwhelmed with sadness.
"Why, they may not be back again for two years, even if they escape
the thousand and one perils they must encounter from wild beasts,
hostile Sioux and Blackfeet Indians, snow pitfalls in the mountains,
starvation on the deserts, and all sorts of other things. Oh! Dick,
what a cruel thing this is. And it could all be changed, you say, if
only that one man's signature might be obtained to a certain paper?"
"Yes, so father tells me. And, Roger, do you know what I have been
thinking of all this day, while we sat, and fished, and watched the
coming of the storm?"
His impulsive cousin glanced up at him quickly, an eager glow in his
eyes and a set look on his young face.
"Dick, were you thinking that _we_ might start out, and try to overtake
that expedition which President Jefferson has sent to see what our new
territory between the river and the ocean is like? (Note 2.) Tell me,
would such an idea ever enter the head of so cautious a fellow as Dick
Armstrong when it might seem to be only fit for a madcap like myself?"
"Ah! yes! but, Roger, think what the signing of that paper would mean
to all those we love! Remember that, unless something is done, we may
lose our homes before another spring, and our parents must start all
over again. And, if you stop and think, did not our fathers once make
almost as dangerous a journey into the unknown country of the Iroquois
Indians, at the time our Aunt Kate, their sister, was stolen by a young
chief?"
"Yes, yes, every word you say is true, Dick; but the daring of it all
staggers me. Do not think for a second that I will hold back, if only
we can gain the consent of our parents to making the trial. Think of
starting out into that wonderful unknown wilderness, where white men
have never until now placed a foot, following in the track of Captain
Lewis and Captain Clark, with their little band of soldiers and scouts,
not more than forty souls, all told. Oh! let us get back across the
river right away, Dick, because I want to beg my father to let me go;
and get grandfather to back us up, for he says we are chips of the old
blocks, and able to hold our own anywhere."
"Well, the wind has fallen enough, I think, for us to make the trial;
so jump into the dugout, and we'll paddle for the other shore, Roger."
FOOTNOTE:
[4] See "The Pioneer Boys of the Mississippi."