professor, sitting well in the foreground, fidgeted inwardly and hoped
that the train on which he was to depart would not arrive before he had
had his opportunity. But he sat smiling, nevertheless, throughout the
opening prayer by the minister, the address of the day and the reading
of the Declaration of Independence by the orator, the verses of the
poet, the teacher's song, and four band pieces. On his lap were two
large squares of white pasteboard which he fingered nervously, and every
two or three minutes he took note of the time.
When his turn came at last, it was with calm dignity, as becomes a
scholar, that he rose and stepped forward to the edge of the stand,
where the orator, in ringing tones, introduced him as "our distinguished
guest." Then, amid a hush, partly of curiosity, the professor began his
speech.
Up to this time the little girl had been but a mildly interested
onlooker. She was seated, with the other States, just behind the row of
prominent citizens, listening less to the exercises than to the buzz
about her, and refraining from talking only when the band rendered a
number. The colonel's son was down in front and facing her, so she
divided her time, when she was silent, between him and her mother. In
the excitement of the hour she had totally forgotten the professor.
But now, with him at the speaker's table, she suddenly recalled the
evening before, her sleepless night, and her worry. And she quaked as
she leaned forward to hear what he was saying, and bent her looks in
fear upon the colonel's son.
The professor, having bowed to all sides and cleared his throat,
launched into the subject of his discovery, prefacing it with a
reference to the carnelian bluff.
"It shows by the deposit on its summit," he said, "that at one time,
centuries ago, a boundless sea, that roared when the winds swept by or
lapped and slept in a calm, covered the bosom of this prairie. Beneath
the arrowheads and hatchets that mark it as a natural watch-tower of the
redmen, lies, deep-hidden, a layer of sea-shells, proof that this plain
was once an ocean bed."
He paused a moment at this point to allow the full significance of his
words to impress itself upon the assemblage before him. Then he
continued.
"But I have discovered the proof of a far greater marvel concerning this
prairie-land of yours. A sea tumbled over it, as I have said; yes, but,
more wonderful still, in ages past--I cannot say how many--a race,
intellectually superior to the Indian, dwelt here. As borne out by the
inerasable markings I have discovered, this race was undoubtedly a
branch or part of a people that we have hitherto believed never visited
the continent until Columbus's time."
The teacher, the poet, and the minister opened their eyes with interest
as his statement fell upon their ears. But no thrill of surprise swept
the crowd, and the professor, after a pause, coughed and went on.
"I intend to submit my discovery to the scientific world. As proof of it
I have two drawings which I shall show you. They consist of copies of
inscriptions found by me on the Vermillion. This is one of them."
He displayed the larger pasteboard square and a titter ran through the
crowd. To her alarm, the little girl noticed that the colonel's son did
not laugh. Instead, he opened his mouth and stared wildly. Another
instant and the square was turned toward her. She gave a cry when she
saw the figure drawn upon it.
[Illustration]
"Notice," said the professor, "how large and Caesarean is the head. It is
the crude outline of a man whose arms are outstretched as if in appeal
to or in adoration of some god. The attitude is full of dignity and
strength. It is unquestionably an ancient graffito."
He turned to the table and lifted the second square. "I have been
working for years in scientific fields," he began once more, "accepting
what small honors came my way, grateful that I have been able to name
two new species of flowers. Now, I have chanced upon something in the
boundless stretches of the plains that promises reward as well as fame.
Heretofore, no scientific men, strictly speaking, have searched the
prairies for archaeological traces. Hunters, travelers, soldiers,
priests, and statesmen have gone across, their eyes bent on different
phases of the country. And so it was for me, an humble student, to
uncover the undreamed-of."
He turned once more to those behind him, holding up the second
pasteboard. The little girl shrank in her seat as the three accusing
letters, written large upon it, fell beneath her apprehensive gaze:
[Illustration]
The professor looked hurriedly at his watch, seized his hat and the
drawings, and made a parting bow. "I leave on the coming train," he said
regretfully; "I see that it is now almost due. I promise you that I
shall return in the near future. Until then, farewell."
The crowd parted respectfully to let him pass as he hastened down the
steps of the grand stand and away. The little girl looked after him
undecidedly. Then, a quartet having moved between her and the colonel's
son, she cast aside the gilded rock and the cotton batting and threaded
the assemblage on the run.
The two had the short, dusty road to themselves, and they traveled it
rapidly. The professor, with a rod's start, kept well ahead of the
little girl, and came into the depot on time, his hat in his hand. She,
breathless, arrived a moment later, just as the engine slowed down.
The professor had heard no one behind him, for all noise had been
drowned by his own rush. So, without looking back, he sprang toward the
last coach and swung himself on by the rail of the farther steps, his
drawings under one arm, his hands encumbered with the box and bag which
he had picked up in the waiting-room. Suddenly a voice caused him to
turn.
"Professor!" cried the little girl. She was puffing so hard that she
could not continue.
"Bless my heart!" said the professor, descending to the lowest step and
catching her by the hand.
"Oh, professor!" she cried again.
"Yes? Yes?" he said inquiringly. The train was starting and there was no
time to be lost. She ran beside it for a few steps.
"I did that!" The little girl pointed at the pasteboard under his arm.
She fell back. The cars were moving rapidly now, and she was too tired
to pursue them.
"You!" gasped the professor, clapping one hand to the drawings; _"you!_"
"Well--well--not me, but a boy," she added chokingly.
The professor put his hands to his head, and the squares, escaping his
arm, were blown from the steps and fluttered upon the graveled
embankment. The little girl saw them fall and ran forward to secure
them. He did not see her. He was sitting on the top step of the
fast-receding train, his face covered as if to shut out a fearful sight,
his coat-sleeves pressing his ears as if to deaden a shout of ridicule.
The little girl looked after him, holding the pasteboards in her hands.
"I'm sorry," she said out loud, "that nobody made these a long time ago.
But they couldn't, 'cause they're my 'nitials."
Then she walked back toward the grand stand, where the band, with small
boys encircling it, was rendering the final number of the program,--a
resounding "America."
XIII
A RACE AND A RESCUE
"WHAT'RE you doin' under there?" asked the biggest brother, looking
beneath the canopied bed, where the little girl was lying on her back,
her feet braced at right angles to the loose board slats above her.
There was no answer, but the broad counterpane of bright calico squares
that, by its heaving, had betrayed her presence, became suddenly still.
"Because," continued the biggest brother, "I'm goin' to the station this
afternoon with the blue mare and the buckboard. And if you ain't doin'
nothing and want to go along, just slide out and meet me on the corn
road."
He exchanged his gingham jumper for a coat at the elk antlers in the
entry, and left the house. When his whistle was swallowed up by the
barn, the little girl crept stealthily from her hiding-place, washed her
feet, changed her apron, and, under cover of the kitchen, hurried
eastward to the oat-field. Having gained it, she turned north, crouching
low as she ran.
* * * * *
HAYTIME was over and harvest was close at hand. In the brief space
between, the reapers were being put into shape for the cutting of the
grain. That morning, while the biggest and the youngest brothers were
repairing the broken rakes of a dropper, the eldest had sharpened the
long saw-knife, aided by the little girl, whom he compelled to turn the
squeaking grindstone. They had begun early, working under the tool-shed,
and for hours the little girl had labored wearily at the winch-handle,
with only an occasional rest. By eleven o'clock her arms were so tired
that she could scarcely go on, and she became rebellious. Perhaps it was
not only her fatigue, but the fact that "David Copperfield" had arrived
the day before and was awaiting her temptingly in the sitting-room, that
caused her, in a cross though not malicious moment, to give the circling
handle such a whirl that the reaper blade was jerked violently forward;
and, as it bounded and sang against the stone, it cut a gash in the
eldest brother's hand.
The swallows nesting under the roof of the shed saw the little girl
suddenly run toward the house, followed by the irate eldest brother, who
carried a basin of water. The two disappeared into the entry, the little
girl leading. When the eldest brother came out, still holding the basin,
he looked angry and warm. For, with all his hunting, she had managed to
escape him, and he was obliged to nurse his wrath and his hand
unavenged.
The little girl had dived under the canopied bed, where she stayed,
holding her breath, while the eldest brother looked for her high and
low. When he went out, calling the youngest brother to take her place,
she yet remained discreetly hidden. At dinner-time a plate of food and a
glass of milk mysteriously made their appearance at the edge of the bed,
so that she was able to stay in seclusion and wait for the storm to
pass. But even "David Copperfield," which arrived with her meal, did not
aid her in whiling away the hours. So the biggest brother's suggestion
came as a welcome relief.
When the buckboard rolled along the corn road, the little girl stepped
out of the field and climbed to the seat on the driver's side. Neither
she nor the biggest brother spoke, but, as the blue mare jogged on, she
took the reins from him and chirruped gaily to the horse, with an inward
wish that, instead of being in the buckboard, she were free of it and on
the blue mare's back. The mare made poor progress when she was hitched
between shafts, since she was not a trotter, and reached her best gait
under a blanket. But this was known to the little girl alone, for the
big brothers never went faster than a canter, and would have punished
her if they had guessed how rapidly, on each trip to the station, the
horse was ridden.
The little girl usually started for town in the early afternoon, as the
biggest brother had that day. In this way the local passed her, going
east, when the trip was half over. As the engine came in sight, the
little girl urged the mare to a slow gallop, and, as the cow-catcher got
abreast, gave her a sharp cut that sent her forward beside the train.
And so swift was the high-strung horse that she was never left behind
until a long stretch of road had been covered. The little girl liked
best, however, to start the race at the outer edge of the broad meadow
that lay west of the station, because, by acquiring speed before the
engine came on a line with her, she could ride up to the depot with the
rear car.
The almost daily brush with the train was seemingly as much enjoyed by
the blue mare as by her rider. With the engine's roar in her ears and
its smoke in her nostrils, she sped on, neck and neck with the iron
horse. When the local was still far behind she would begin to curvet and
take the bit between her teeth. After the first few contests, she needed
no whip. The little girl had only to slacken the reins and let her go,
and she would scamper into the station, covered with dust and foam from
her flashing eyes to her flying feet.
While the little girl was thinking over her exciting rides, the biggest
brother was mournfully looking around at the farm. The year had been a
disastrous one. A chinook had swept the prairies in the late winter,
thawing all the drifts except those in sheltered gullies, and giving a
false message to the sleeping ground; so that, long before their time,
the grass and flowers had sprung up, only to be cut down by a heavy
frost that was succeeded by snow. Again a hot wind had come, and again
the grass had sprouted prematurely and been blighted. When spring
opened, the winds veered to the south and drove back, and what green
things had survived the cold died early in a hot, blowy May.
Lack of moisture had stunted the growing crops, the sun had baked the
ground under them, and every stem and blade had been scorched. Where, in
former years, the oats had nodded heavy-headed stood a straight, scanty
growth. The wheat showed naked spots on its western side, the Vermillion
having overflowed after the sowing and lain so long that the seed rotted
in the wet. The flax stems turned up their blue faces and shriveled into
a thin cover on the sod. And in the corn-field, that promised nubbins
instead of the usual husking, there shone too soon a glimmer of gold.
Around the fields the brittle grass sloped down to the shrinking
sloughs, where the muskrat houses stood high and dry, stranded on the
cracked swamp-beds like beached boats. The river, for weeks a
wide-spread, muddy stream, was now but a chain of trickling pools.
Drought was abroad with its burning hand, and the landscape lay bared
and brown.
But frost, sun, and winds had not been the only scourges. Potato-bugs
had settled upon the long patch that was bordered by the reservation
road. The youngest brother had painted the riddled vines green with
poison, and the little girl had gone along the rows with a stick,
knocking thousands of the pests into an oyster-can; but their labor had
been in vain. Cutworms had destroyed the melons; cabbage-lice and
squash-bugs had besieged the garden, attended by caterpillars; and
grasshoppers by the millions had hopped across the farm, devouring as
they went and leaving disaster behind them.
The hot wind that bent the stunted grass beside the road reminded the
biggest brother of every catastrophe of the year, and he cried out
angrily to it. "Oh, blow! blow! blow!" he scolded, and, reaching over,
gave the blue mare a slap with the reins to relieve his feelings. It
started her into a smart trot, and she soon topped the ridge along which
the track ran. Then the little girl headed her toward the station.
"It only needs a fire to finish the whole thing up," went on the biggest
brother, ruefully eying the prairie. "The country's as dry as tinder.
And our place ain't plowed around half well enough. If a blaze should
happen to come down on us"--he shook his head gravely.
As if in answer to his words, there came from behind them a gust of hot
air that carried with it the smell of burning grass. He faced to the
rear with an exclamation of alarm and, shading his face, peered back
along the rails. "Catch that?" he asked excitedly. "There _is_ a fire
somewheres; it's behind us. And the wind's in the west!"
The little girl sprang to her feet, the buckboard still going, and also
looked behind. "Why, I can see smoke," she said. She pointed to where a
dark haze, like shattered thunder-clouds, was rising from the sky-line.
"It's been set by that confounded engine," declared the biggest brother.
He seized the reins and brought the blue mare to a stop.
The little girl stood upon the seat, holding his hand to steady herself.
"Don't you think we'd better drive home?" she questioned anxiously.
"Well, I don't know," he replied. "Seems to me like the smoke's gettin'
thicker awful fast. We don't notice it much because the sun's so
bright. But it ain't more 'n eight or ten miles away, and comin' like
sixty. It could make the farm ahead of us. We'll just get on to the
back-fire at the station and keep from gettin' singed."
They sat silent for a moment. Then the biggest brother turned about and
clucked to the blue mare. But the little girl continued to squint
against the sun until, in descending into a draw, the black haze behind
was lost to view.
The biggest brother kept the blue mare at a good gait, and the road,
with its narrow strip of weedy grass down the center, flew by under the
bouncing buckboard. Soon the long, gradual incline leading up from the
ravine was climbed. At its top, on a high bench, the horse halted for
breath. Both the biggest brother and the little girl at once rose to
their feet. As they did so, they uttered a cry.
A moving wall of animals, that stretched far to north and south, was
heading swiftly toward them from beyond the river bluffs. They could
hear the sound of thousands of hoofs, like the ceaseless roll of dulled
drums, and across the black level of the wall they saw a bank of smoke,
into which leaped tongues of flame.
Without losing a second, the biggest brother began to urge on the blue
mare. The black-snake was missing from its place in the buckboard. So
he used the ends of the reins. He saw that the wind, which had been
brisk all day, was now redoubled in strength, increased by another that
found its source in the advancing fire. He wondered if he had not better
unhitch and let the horse carry them both, abandoning the buckboard to
its fate on the road. Yet he feared to lose any time, and, reflecting
that perhaps the spirited creature would refuse to ride double, he
decided to hurry on without making the change. As the mare responded to
the rein ends, something like a prayer moved his dry, firm-set lips. For
he knew that they were menaced not only by a conflagration, but by a mad
stampede.
"The local'll be along in about half an hour," said the little girl,
speaking for the first time since their dread discovery. "Do you think
the fire'll hurt it?"
The biggest brother laughed uneasily. "No," he replied, "it'll go right
through the fire; but the cattle'll pitch it off the track if they get
in front of it."
The little girl faced around to watch the oncoming rout, and the biggest
brother renewed his thrashing of the blue mare. But he was not satisfied
with the horse's speed. She was acting strangely, wavering from side to
side as if she were anxious to turn, at the same time keeping her head
high and whinnying nervously.
_"You_ know what's comin'," the biggest brother said to her between his
teeth; "and you'd go back if I'd let you."
The little girl called his attention from the mare with a shout. He
turned to look in the direction of her shaking finger. What he saw
blanched his dripping face. From a point on the prairie where he knew
the farm-house stood were ascending several dense, black funnels!
The line of flying animals had now crossed the farm. The blaze seemed to
be at the very flanks of the herd, licking up the dry weeds and grass
from under their speeding feet. The biggest brother groaned as his eye
swept the oncoming panic. He forgot for a moment the danger to those at
home and the terrible loss that, doubtless, had been visited upon them,
in the thought of the impending fate of himself and the little girl.
"They'll be plump on us in no time," he muttered, and, kneeling at the
dashboard, he renewed his beating.
A bare three miles ahead lay the meadow beyond which was the town and
safety. The thundering host behind, at the rate it was coming, would
catch them while they were crossing the wide basin, where the
dropseed-grass and blue-joint were higher than the wild hay on the
prairie about. There the herd would have to increase its running to
escape the swifter-going fire; hence, there lay the greatest peril to
the biggest brother and the little girl.
In a few moments the animals heading the rout were out of sight in the
draw crossed a little while before by the buckboard. The fire followed
them, creeping slowly down the farther hillside, where the growth was
poor; but when it, as well as the stock, disappeared in the bottom,
where the grass stood thick and tall, the narrow ravine top vomited
smoke and flame like the mouth of a crater.
In a terribly short space the stampede rushed up the bench and came on,
a dense mass, horning and shouldering wildly. It was soon so close that
the horses could be distinguished from the cattle. Then it gained on the
buckboard to such an extent that the little girl could make out, through
the smoke and dust that whirled before it, animals that she knew. But
they were changed. Was that old Kate, the cultivator mare, with bulging
eyes and lolling tongue? Or young Liney, the favorite daughter of a
well-loved mother, whose horns cut the grass as she fled? Or Napoleon's
dusky son, Dan, near the rails? Even above the sound of their feet and
the roar of the fire, she could hear them bawling from weariness and
fear as they charged ruthlessly on toward the buckboard.
The blue mare was failing in her stride and acting more obstinately
than ever. Now to the right, now to the left, she turned, and it was
with difficulty that the biggest brother kept her in the road. She
answered every blow on her lathered hindquarters with an angry hump. The
biggest brother, as he pounded her mercilessly, felt that escape was
impossible.
Beside him, quiet and brave, sat the little girl. A spot of scarlet
showed on either cheek, her eyes were alight, her figure tense. If she
felt any terror, she did not show it. She knew how rapidly the blue mare
could travel, and she trusted her pet to bring them to safety.
As the buckboard struck the meadow road, the biggest brother gave a
hurried glance over his shoulder to see how far behind was the herd.
"Never saw so many animals all together in my life," he said. "They'll
kill us sure if they catch us. And that fire's drivin' 'em at an awful
clip. My God!"
The cry burst from him in dismay as a huge, burning tumbleweed, as high
as a wagon-wheel and as round, rolled through a gap in the stampede and
whirled past them, lighting the grass as it sped. A second and a third
followed. Soon a dozen brands had shot forward, heralding the crackling
fiend behind. The blue mare shied wildly when the weeds came close, and
each time the buckboard almost capsized. She was lagging more than ever,
as if waiting for the animals that were scarcely a half mile away.
There was fire all around now, and smoke and cinders floated over the
biggest brother and the little girl, choking them and shutting out the
road ahead. The wind, as it brushed by, seemed to sear their faces with
its torrid breath. Suddenly, the dust and smoke clearing to the right,
the little girl clutched the biggest brother's arm and pointed out a
dark, bulky creature that was in the lead. It was a bison, evidently one
of those lonely bachelors that, exiled from their kind, were the first
hermits of the plains. His bushy head was lowered and his beard swept
the ground. The biggest brother and the little girl could see his naked
body gleam and quiver as he was crowded forward by a band of antelope.
He galloped blindly, as if he was failing in strength. Even as they
looked he tumbled to his knees and let the antelope pass over him,
meeting an ignoble death beneath a hundred sharp hoofs and in the
embrace of the fire.
The biggest brother's attention was given to the bison only an instant.
For a long-horned steer collided with a hind wheel and a horse came
dashing against the blue mare. He guided the buckboard nearer the rails
to avoid the horse and reached round to hammer with his hat the steer's
nose, which was thrust almost against the seat. "They'll trample us,
they'll trample us!" he cried, and he seized the little girl about the
shoulders and thrust her in front of him. "Drive," he commanded. Then he
climbed back over the seat and furiously kicked out at the animals
lunging upon the buckboard.
But he could as easily have stopped the pursuing fire, which was in the
meadow and was house high; for, with those in the rear pressing them on
at every bound, the leaders could not slacken their course. He saw that
there was but one thing to be done: increase the speed before the
buckboard was run down. "Oh, why didn't I unhitch?" he cried miserably
as he climbed back to the little girl's side.