TRAMPING SOUTHWARD.
An ejaculation of thankfulness escaped Fred Linden when he found himself
floating in the comparatively still water below the rapids, and he knew
that although he was pretty well bruised, none of his bones was broken.
He let go of the limb of the tree that had served him so well, and
flirting the water from his eyes, struck out with his old time vigor for
the shore, toward which he had started in the canoe.
When Terry Clark saw his friend go spinning into the whirlpool, he
scrambled back from the trunk of the tree, on which he had found refuge,
and ran at full speed down the bank. Fast as he went, he was just in
time to see Fred swimming through the foaming waters toward the land.
"Give me yer hand!" called out the delighted youngster; "there isn't
any body in the wide wurruld that could bate that onless it is mesilf,
and I couldn't do it."
"Whew!" exclaimed Fred, as he laboriously clambered up the steep bank;
"that was the biggest lot of swimming and diving crowded into the space
of a minute or two that I ever knew; I wouldn't like to take such a trip
each day."
"And I'm thinkin' that it'll be a few days after this whin we try it
agin," added Terry, delighted to see his loved comrade before him
unharmed; "I jist give up when I seen you plunge in among the rocks, and
was wonderin' how your father and mother and sister Edith would faal
when I should be luggin' your dead body home."
"I'm thankful that you haven't _that_ to do," said Fred with an
earnestness that could not be mistaken; "but come, the clothes of us
both are dripping, and we can't get away any too soon."
It was not far to walk, and a few minutes later they reached the other
side of the clearing, where the cluster of cabins stood. The first
living object on which their eyes rested was Brindle, lying on the
ground and chewing her cud with an air of contentment which belongs
exclusively to her kind, or rather kine.
The boys laughed and Terry said:
"If she had such a thing as conscience she wouldn't be takin' things in
that aisy style, after givin' us a duckin' that come nigh bein' our last
one."
"You are right, Terry, but what did you do with that bell that Deerfoot
took away from the Winnebago?"
"I lift it wid my gun on the other side of the creek; I didn't want it
tollin' our funeral knell all the time we was goin' through the rapids
and splittin' the rocks to pieces by bangin' our heads agin them."
"It is just as well, for the creek will be so low that there will be no
danger in crossing it to-morrow, and you can get the bell again; well,
here we are at home."
The boys separated, and at the same moment, each entered the cabin where
he lived. They were only a short distance apart. Several men and a
number of the lads, some older and some younger than the two in whom we
are interested, were moving about, and looked curiously at the dripping
figures. A couple asked an explanation of Fred, but he laughingly
answered that he would tell them after he had got dry, and immediately
disappeared in his own house.
Mrs. Linden and Edith, her daughter, who was two years younger than
Fred, looked up in surprise when they saw the state of the lad.
"Terry and I started to paddle across the creek, that is higher than
usual, and were overturned by a tree that stove in the side of the boat
and gave us a ducking."
Having heard this explanation his folks seemed to feel no more curiosity
about it. The lad passed into his room, he being one of those fortunate
ones who had two complete suits of clothing, with the exception of cap
and shoes. It took him but a short time to effect the change, when he
reappeared, placing his foot and head gear near the fire, where they
would soon dry.
The home of Fred Linden may be taken as a type of the best that were
found on the frontier. As a matter of course, it was made of logs, with
a stone chimney so huge that it projected like an irregular bay window
from the rear. The fire-place took up the greater part of one side of
the house, where the immense blocks of oak and hickory not only diffused
a cheery warmth through the lower portion, but sent fully one-half the
heat up the enormous throat of the chimney.
The large room, which served for parlor, sitting and dining room, was
furnished simply, but comfortably, with plain chairs, a bench,
spinning-wheel, a rocking-chair, table, a few cheap pictures and the
indispensable cooking utensils. There was no stove, every thing being
prepared in the fire-place. At that day, as you well know, no one had
ever dreamed of using coal as an article of fuel, and the old-fashioned
stoves were exceedingly few in number. Carpets, of course, were not
thought of, though the rough floor was kept clean enough to serve as a
table for food.
A rifle rested on two deer prongs over the mantel-piece, and there
seemed to be any number of knick-knacks about the room, though it would
have been found that nearly every one had a distinct use in the
household.
Two rooms were connected on the same floor with the larger apartment.
One of these served as the sleeping quarters for the parents when Mr.
Linden was at home, and the other for Edith, while Fred occupied the
loft, which had the rafters for a ceiling, and extended over half the
lower floor. During the absence of the father, Edith and her mother used
one room, while Fred had the other.
Noon had passed when the son came home, and his substantial dinner of
venison--procured some days before by Fred himself--brown bread,
potatoes, butter and milk, were awaiting him. Taking his place at the
table, he ate as only a rugged, growing boy of sixteen can eat.
He made no further mention of the dangerous adventure that had just
befallen him, but gave the full particulars of Terry Clark's encounter
with the Winnebago Indian, who stole the bell from the cow, and tried to
have a little sport at the expense of the boy. It was an interesting
story, and mother and daughter listened with rapt attention. Edith, who
was a bright girl, and very fond of her brother, asked many questions
as to how the Winnebago looked, what he said, and whether he really
meant to kill poor Terry. Then her interest suddenly transferred itself
to Deerfoot, and she plied Fred with all sorts of queries, until he
laughingly told her that she was asking them two and three times over,
and really he had nothing more to tell.
Then Fred drew out the moist and soiled bit of paper that he had taken
from his other clothes, and which contained the message of his father.
This, of course, caused a sensation, for it made known the fact that the
son was to join his parent for several months. It would be supposed that
this would cause some inconvenience, but in such a primitive community
all were neighbors, and the chores and work that would have been done by
Fred Linden would be cheerfully attended to by others. It was not until
many years afterward, when the settlements became towns, that the social
distinctions between families were formed.
During all the conversation, after it had been agreed that Fred should
start alone on a hundred mile journey through the wild forest, nothing
was said about such a thing as the personal danger attending it. And
that, too, directly on the heels of the Winnebago's attempt on Terry
Clark. The habit of self-reliance was taught to the children of the
pioneers at such an early age, that their parents felt no solicitude,
where in these times they would have been tortured by anxiety, and, no
doubt, with abundant reason.
Mrs. Bowlby was told of the mishap that had befallen her absent lord,
when she was asked by Edith to come over in the evening, but she was
assured that there was no cause for alarm, and so she felt none. She
wrote a letter to her husband, as did the wife of Hardin, and Fred's own
mother. These constituted all the extra luggage that he was to take, for
it would have been oppressive to load him with any thing in the nature
of a burden when the hunters had been absent only a few days.
The decision was that Fred should make his start at early dawn the next
day. It was his purpose to reach camp on the fourth day; that would be
only an ordinary tramp for a rugged youngster like him, and he was
confident that he would have no trouble in keeping to the trail that had
been ridden over so recently by his friends.
The little personal articles, as they may be called, which the lad would
require, were mostly the same as those of his father, and could be
utilized by the son. Such, as from the nature of things, could not
answer for both were tied into a compact package with his linen and
strapped over his shoulders with a thick blanket. His powder horn and
bullet pouch were not forgotten. An extra flint for his rifle was placed
in his pocket, and the weapon, which belonged to the lad himself, was
slung over his shoulder after the manner of a professional hunter. Then
making sure that nothing had been left behind, Fred gave his sister and
mother a warm hug and kiss apiece, called to them a jaunty good-by, and
set his face toward the Ozark mountains.
It had become known that he was to start on quite a lengthy journey, and
those who were astir at that early hour called their hearty good wishes
to the lad, who was popular with all. Fred looked for Terry, and seeing
nothing of him, shouted his name as he passed by his door, but receiving
no response, concluded that he was still asleep.
The heart of the boy was light as he strode at a rapid pace across the
clearing. He felt no inconvenience from the bruises received the day
before, during the passage of the rapids, and his natural buoyancy
caused him to look upon the tramp through the woods as a school boy
views his long expected vacation. There was no fear of any peril in the
stretch of unbroken forest that opened before him. It was fortunate
indeed for his peace of mind that he did not know what was awaiting him
in the dark arches and labyrinths of the almost interminable
wilderness.