CHAPTER XI
AN INDIAN TRAIL.
The next day was Sunday, and, true to their New England training, thesettlers refrained from labor on the day of rest. Mr. Bryant took hispocket Bible and wandered off into the wild waste of lands somewhere.The others lounged about the cabin, indoors and out, a trifle sore andstiff from the effects of work so much harder than that to which theyhad been accustomed, and glad of an opportunity to rest their limbs.The younger of the boy settlers complained that they had worn theirlegs out with punching holes in the sod while planting corn. The solesof their feet were sore with the pressure needed to jam the dibblethrough the tough turf. In the afternoon, they all wandered offthrough the sweet and silent wilderness of rolling prairie into thewoods in which they proposed to lay off another claim for pre-emption.At a short distance above their present home, cutting sharply throughthe sod, and crossing the Republican Fork a mile or so above their ownford, was an old Indian trail, which the boys had before noticed butcould not understand. As Charlie and Oscar, pressing on ahead oftheir elders, came upon the old trail, they loitered about until therest of the party came up, and then they asked what could have cutthat narrow track in the turf, so deep and so narrow.
"That's an Injun trail," said Younkins, who, with an uncomfortably newsuit of Sunday clothes and a smooth-shaven face, had come over tovisit his new neighbors. "Didn't you ever see an Injun trail before?"he asked, noting the look of eager curiosity on the faces of the boys.They assured him that they never had, and he continued: "This yeretrail has been here for years and years, long and long before anywhite folks came into the country. Up north and east of yer, on thehead-waters of the Big Blue, the Cheyennes used to live,"--Younkinspronounced it Shyans,--"and as soon as the grass began to start in thespring, so as to give feed to their ponies and to the buffalo, theywould come down this yere way for game. They crossed the Fork justabove yere-like, and then they struck down to the head-waters of theSmoky Hill and so off to the westwards. Big game was plenty in thosedays, and now the Injuns off to the north of yere come down in justthe same way--hunting for game."
The boys got down on their knees and scanned the trail with newinterest. It was not more than nine or ten inches across, and was soworn down that it made a narrow trench, as it were, in the deep sod,its lower surface being as smooth as a rolled wagon-track. Over thiswell-worn track, for ages past, the hurrying feet of wild tribes hadpassed so many times that even the wiry grass-roots had been killeddown.
"Did war parties ever go out on this trail, do you suppose?" askedSandy, sitting up in the grass.
"Sakes alive, yes!" replied Younkins. "Why, the Cheyennes and theComanches used to roam over all these plains, in the old times, andthey were mostly at war."
"Where are the Cheyennes and the Comanches now, Mr. Younkins?" askedUncle Aleck.
"I reckon the Comanches are off to the south-like somewhere. Itappears to me that I heard they were down off the Texas border,somewheres; the Cheyennes are to the westwards, somewhere near FortLaramie."
"And what Indians are there who use this trail now?" inquired Oscar,whose eyes were sparkling with excitement as he studied the well-wornpath of the Indian tribes.
Younkins explained that the Pottawottomies and the Pawnees, nowlocated to the north, were the only ones who used the trail. "BlanketIndians," he said they were, peaceable creatures enough, but not goodneighbors; he did not want any Indians of any sort near him. When oneof the boys asked what blanket Indians were, Younkins explained,--
"There's three kinds of Injuns, none on 'em good,--town Injuns,blanket Injuns, and wild Injuns. You saw some of the town Injuns whenyou came up through the Delaware reserve--great lazy fellows, lyin'round the house all day and lettin' the squaws do all the work. Thenthere's the blankets; they live out in the woods and on the prairie,in teepees, or lodges, of skins and canvas-like, moving round fromplace to place, hunting over the plains in summer, and living off'nthe Gov'ment in winter. They are mostly at peace with the whites, butthey will steal whenever they get a chance. The other kind, and theworst, is the wild ones. They have nothing to do with the Government,and they make war on the whites whenever they feel like it. Just now,I don't know of any wild Injuns that are at war with Uncle Sam; butthe Arapahoes, Comanches, and Cheyennes are all likely to break looseany time. I give 'm all a plenty of elbow room."
As the boys reluctantly ceased contemplating the fascinating Indiantrail, and moved on behind the rest of the party, Charlie said: "Isuppose we must make allowance for Younkins's prejudices. He is likemost of the border men, who believe that all the good Indians aredead. If the Cheyennes and the Comanches could only tell their storyin the books and newspapers, we might hear the other side."
The idea of a wild Indian's writing a book or a letter to thenewspapers tickled Sandy so much that he laughed loud and long.
Some two miles above the point where the settlers' ford crossed theRepublican Fork, the stream swept around a bluffy promontory, and on acurve just above this was the tract of timber land which they nowproposed to enter upon for their second claim. The trees were oak,hickory, and beech, with a slight undergrowth of young cottonwoods andhazel. The land lay prettily, the stream at this point flowing in asoutherly direction, with the timber claim on its northwesterly bank.The sunny exposure of the grove, the open glades that diversified itsdense growth, and the babbling brook that wound its way through it tothe river, all combined to make it very desirable for a timber claim.At a short distance from the river the land rose gradually to a highridge, and on the top of this grew a thick wood of spruce and fir.
"That's what you want for your next cabin," said Younkins, pointinghis finger in the direction of the pines. "Best kind of stuff forbuilding there is in these parts." Then he explained to the boys theprocess of cutting down the trees, splitting them up into shakes, orinto lengths suitable for cabin-building, and he gave them anentertaining account of all the ways and means of finishing up alog-cabin,--a process, by the way, which they found then moreentertaining in description than they afterward found it in thereality.
That night when Sandy lay down to refreshing sleep it was to dream ofpicturesque Indian fights, witnessed at a safe distance from afar.Accordingly, he was not very much surprised next morning, while he washelping Charlie to get ready the breakfast, when Oscar ran inbreathless, with the one word, "Indians!"
"Come out on the hill back of the cabin," panted Oscar. "There's a lotof 'em coming out on the trail we saw yesterday, all in Indian file.Hurry up!" and away he darted, Sandy hastening with him to see thewonderful sight.
Sure enough, there they were, twenty-five or thirty Indians,--blanketIndians, as Younkins would have said,--strung along in the narrowtrail, all in Indian file. It amazed the lads to see how the littleIndian ponies managed to keep their feet in the narrow path. But theyseemed to trot leisurely along with one foot before the other, just asthe Indians did. Behind the mounted men were men and boys on foot,nearly as many as had passed on horseback. These kept up with theothers, silently but swiftly maintaining the same pace that themounted fellows did. It was a picturesque and novel sight to the youngsettlers. The Indians were dressed in the true frontier style, withhunting-shirt and leggings of dressed deerskin, a blanket slungloosely over the shoulder, all bareheaded, and with coarse black hairflowing in the morning breeze, except for the loose knot in which itwas twisted behind. Some of them carried their guns slung on theirbacks; and others of them had the weapons in their hands, ready forfiring on the instant.
"There they go, over the divide," said Oscar, as the little cavalcadereached the last roll of the prairie, and began to disappear on theother side. Not one of the party deigned even to look in the directionof the wondering boys; and if they saw them, as they probably did,they made no sign.
"There they go, hunting buffalo, I suppose," said Sandy, with asigh, as the last Indian of the file disappeared down the horizon."Dear me! don't I wish I was going out after buffalo, instead ofhaving to dibble corn into the sod all da
y! Waugh! Don't I hateit!" And the boy turned disconsolately back to the cabin. But herallied with his natural good-humor when he had his tale to tell atthe breakfast-table. He eagerly told how they had seen the Indianspassing over the old trail, and had gazed on the redskins as theywent "on the warpath."
"Warpath, indeed!" laughed Charlie. "Pot-hunters, that's what theyare. All the warfare they are up to is waged on the poor innocentbuffalo that Younkins says they are killing off and making scarcerevery year."
"If nobody but Indians killed buffalo," said Mr. Bryant, "there wouldbe no danger of their ever being all killed off. But, in course oftime, I suppose this country will all be settled up, and then therewill be railroads, and after that the buffalo will have to go. Justnow, any white man that can't saddle his horse and go out and kill abuffalo before breakfast thinks they are getting scarce. But I haveheard some of the soldiers say that away up north of here, a littlelater in the season, the settlers cannot keep their crops, the buffaloroam all over everything so."
"For my part," put in Charlie, "I am not in the least afraid that thebuffalo will be so plenty around these parts that they will hurt ourcrops; and I'd just like to see a herd come within shooting distance."And here he raised his arms, and took aim along an imaginary rifle.
Later in the forenoon, when the two younger boys had reached the endof the two rows in which they had been planting, Sandy straightenedhimself up with an effort, and said, "This is leg-weary work, isn'tit, Oscar? I hate work, anyhow," he added, discontentedly, leaning onthe top of his dibble, and looking off over the wide and green prairiethat stretched toward the setting sun. "I wish I was an Indian."
Oscar burst into a laugh, and said, "Wish you were an Indian!--so youcould go hunting when you like, and not have any work to do? Why,Sandy, I didn't think that of you."
Sandy colored faintly, and said, "Well, I do hate work, honestly; andit is only because I know that I ought, and that father expects me todo my share, that I do it, and never grumble about it. Say, I never dogrumble, do I, Oscar?" he asked earnestly.
"Only once in a while, when you can't help it, Sandy. I don't likework any better than you do; but it's no use talking about it, we'vegot to do it."
"I always feel so in the spring," said Sandy, very gravely and with alittle sigh, as he went pegging away down another furrow.
Forty acres of land was all that the settlers intended to plant withcorn, for the first year. Forty acres does not seem a very large tractof land to speak of, but when one sees the area marked out with ablack furrow, and realizes that every foot of it must be covered withthe corn-planter, it looks formidable. The boys thought it was a verybig piece of land when they regarded it in that way. But the days soonflew by; and even while the young workers were stumping over thefield, they consoled themselves with visions of gigantic ripewatermelons and mammoth pumpkins and squashes that would regale theireyes before long. For, following the example of most Kansas farmers,they had stuck into many of the furrows with the corn the seeds ofthese easily grown vines.
"Keep the melons a good way from the pumpkins, and the squashes a goodway from both, if you don't want a bad mixture," said Uncle Aleck tothe boy settlers. Then he explained that if the pollen of thesquash-blossoms should happen to fall on the melon-blossoms, the fruitwould be neither good melon nor yet good squash, but a poor mixture ofboth. This piece of practical farming was not lost on Charlie; andwhen he undertook the planting of the garden spot which they foundnear the cabin, he took pains to separate the cucumber-beds as far aspossible from the hills in which he planted his cantaloupe seeds. Theboys were learning while they worked, even if they did grumbleoccasionally over their tasks.