CHAPTER VIII.
THE SETTLERS AT HOME.
A wide, shallow river, whose turbid waters were yellow with thefreshets of early summer, shadowed by tall and sweeping cottonwoodsand water-maples; shores gently sloping to the current, save where atall and rocky bluff broke the prospect up stream; thickets of oaks,alders, sycamores, and persimmons--this was the scene on which theIllinois emigrants arrived, as they journeyed to their new home in thefar West. On the north bank of the river, only a few hundred rods fromthe stream, was the log-cabin of Younkins. It was built on the edge ofa fine bit of timber land, in which oaks and hickories were mingledwith less valuable trees. Near by the cabin, and hugging closely up toit, was a thrifty field of corn and other garden stuff, just beginningto look promising of good things to come; and it was a refreshingsight here in the wilderness, for all around was the virgin forest andthe unbroken prairie.
Younkins's wife, a pale, sallow, and anxious-looking woman, andYounkins's baby boy, chubby and open-eyed, welcomed the strangerswithout much show of feeling other than a natural curiosity. WithWestern hospitality, the little cabin was found large enough toreceive all the party, and the floor was covered with blankets andbuffalo-skins when they lay down to sleep their first night near theirfuture home in the country of the Republican Fork. The boys were veryhappy that their journey was at an end. They had listened with delightwhile Younkins told stories of buffalo and antelope hunting, of Indian"scares," and of the many queer adventures of settlers on this distantfrontier.
"What is there west of this?" asked Charlie, as the party weredividing the floor and the shallow loft among themselves for thenight.
"Nothing but Indians and buffalo," said Younkins, sententiously.
"No settlers anywhere?" cried Sandy, eagerly.
"The next settlement west of here, if you can call it a settlement, isFort Kearney, on the other side of the Platte. From here to there,there isn't so much as a hunter's camp, so far as I know." This wasYounkins's last word, as he tumbled, half dressed, into his bunk inone corner of the cabin. Sandy hugged his brother Charlie before hedropped off to sleep, and whispered in his ear, "We're on the frontierat last! It's just splendid!"
Next day, leaving their cattle and wagon at the Younkins homestead,the party, piloted by their good-natured future neighbor, forded theFork and went over into the Promised Land. The river was rather highas yet; for the snow, melting in the far-off Rocky Mountains as thesummer advanced, had swollen all the tributaries of the RepublicanFork, and the effects of the rise were to be seen far down on the Kaw.The newcomers were initiated into the fashion of the country byYounkins, who directed each one to take off all clothes but his shirtand hat. Then their garments were rolled up in bundles, each man andboy taking his own on his head, and wading deliberately into thewater, the sedate Younkins being the leader.
It seemed a little dangerous. The stream was about one hundred rodswide, and the current was tolerably swift, swollen by the inrush ofsmaller streams above. The water was cold, and made an ominousswishing and gurgling among the underbrush that leaned into the marginof the river. In Indian file, Mr. Howell bringing up the rear, andkeeping his eyes anxiously upon the lads before him, they all crossedin safety, Sandy, the shortest of the party, being unable to keep drythe only garment he had worn, for the water came well up under hisarms.
"Well, that was funny, anyhow," he blithely remarked, as he wrung thewater out of his shirt, and, drying himself as well as he could,dressed and joined the rest of the party in the trip toward theirfuture home.
Along the lower bank of the Republican Fork, where the new settlersnow found themselves, the country is gently undulating. Bordering thestream they saw a dense growth of sycamores, cottonwoods, and birches.Some of these trees were tall and handsome, and the general effect onthe minds of the newcomers was delightful. After they had emerged fromthe woods that skirted the river, they were in the midst of a lovelyrolling prairie, the forest on the right; on their left was a thickgrowth of wood that marked the winding course of a creek which, risingfar to the west, emptied into the Republican Fork at a point justbelow where the party had forded the stream. The land rose graduallyfrom the point nearest the ford, breaking into a low, rocky bluffbeyond at their right and nearest the river, a mile away, and rollingoff to the southwest in folds and swales.
Just at the foot of the little bluff ahead, with a background oftrees, was a log-cabin of hewn timber, weather-stained and gray in thesummer sun, absolutely alone, and looking as if lost in this untroddenwild. Pointing to it, Younkins said, "That's your house so long as youwant it."
The emigrants tramped through the tall, lush grass that covered everyfoot of the new Kansas soil, their eyes fixed eagerly on the log-cabinbefore them. The latch-string hung out hospitably from the door ofsplit "shakes," and the party entered without ado. Everything was justas Younkins had last left it. Two or three gophers, disturbed intheir foraging about the premises, fled swiftly at the entrance of thevisitors, and a flock of blackbirds, settled around the rear of thehouse, flew noisily across the creek that wound its way down to theFork.
The floor was of puncheons split from oak logs, and laid loosely onrough-hewn joists. These rattled as the visitors walked over them. Atone end of the cabin a huge fireplace of stone laid in clay yawned forthe future comfort of the new tenants. Near by, a rude set of shelvessuggested a pantry, and a table, home-made and equally rude, stood inthe middle of the floor. In one corner was built a bedstead, two sidesof the house furnishing two sides of the work, and the other two beingmade by driving a stake into the floor, and connecting that bystring-pieces to the sides of the cabin. Thongs of buffalo-hide formedthe bottom of this novel bedstead. A few stools and short benches werescattered about. Near the fireplace long and strong pegs, driven intothe logs, served as a ladder, on which one could climb to the low loftoverhead. Two windows, each of twelve small panes of glass, let in thelight, one from the end of the cabin, and one from the back oppositethe door, which was in the middle of the front. Outside, a frailshanty of shakes leaned against the cabin, affording a sort of outdoorkitchen for summer use.
"So this is home," said Charlie, gazing about. "What will mother sayto this--if she ever gets here?"
"Well, we've taken a heap of comfort here, my old woman and me," saidYounkins, looking around quickly, and with an air of surprise. "It's amighty comfortable house; leastways we think so."
Charlie apologized for having seemed to cast any discredit on theestablishment. Only he said that he did not suppose that his motherknew much about log-cabins. As for himself, he would like nothingbetter than this for a home for a long time to come. "For," he added,roguishly, "you know we have come to make the West, 'as they the East,the homestead of the free.'"
Mr. Younkins looked puzzled, but made no remark. The younger boys,after taking in the situation and fondly inspecting every detail ofthe premises, enthusiastically agreed that nothing could be finer thanthis. They darted out of doors, and saw a corral, or pound, in whichthe cattle could be penned up, in case of need. There was a smallpatch of fallow ground, that needed only to be spaded up to become apromising garden-spot. Then, swiftly running to the top of the littlebluff beyond, they gazed over the smiling panorama of emerald prairie,laced with woody creeks, level fields, as yet undisturbed by theploughshare, blue, distant woods and yet more distant hills, amongwhich, to the northwest, the broad river wound and disappeared.Westward, nothing was to be seen but the green and rolling swales ofthe virgin prairie, broken here and there by an outcropping of rock.And as they looked, a tawny, yellowish creature trotted out frombehind a roll of the prairie, sniffed in the direction of the boys,and then stealthily disappeared in the wildness of the vast expanse.
THE SETTLERS' FIRST HOME IN THE DESERTED CABIN.]
"A coyote," said Sandy, briefly. "I've seen them in Illinois. But Iwish I had my gun now." His wiser brother laughed as he told him thatit would be a long day before a coyote could be got near enough to beknocked over with any shot-gun. T
he coyote, or prairie-wolf, is theslyest animal that walks on four legs.
The three men and Charlie returned to the further side of the Fork,and made immediate preparations to move all their goods and effects tothe new home of the emigrants. Sandy and Oscar, being rather too smallto wade the stream without discomfort, while it was so high, were lefton the south bank to receive the returning party.
There the boys sat, hugely enjoying the situation, while the otherswere loading the wagon and yoking the oxen on the other side. The ladscould hear the cheery sounds of the men talking, although they couldnot see them through the trees that lined the farther bank of theriver. The flow of the stream made a ceaseless lapping against thebrink of the shore. A party of catbirds quarrelled sharply in thethicket hard by; quail whistled in the underbrush of the adjacentcreek, and overhead a solitary eagle circled slowly around as iflooking down to watch these rude invaders of the privacy of thedominion that had existed ever since the world began.
Hugging his knees in measureless content, as they sat in the grass bythe river, Sandy asked, almost in a whisper, "Have you ever beenhomesick since we left Dixon, Oscar?"
"Just once, Sandy; and that was yesterday when I saw those nice-lookingladies at the fort out walking in the morning with their children. Thatwas the first sight that looked like home since we crossed the Missouri."
"Me, too," answered Sandy, soberly. "But this is just about as fine asanything can be. Only think of it, Oscar! There are buffalo andantelopes within ten or fifteen miles of here. I know, for Younkinstold me so. And Indians,--not wild Indians, but tame ones that are atpeace with the whites. It seems too good to have happened to us;doesn't it, Oscar?"
Once more the wagon was blocked up for a difficult ford, the lighterand more perishable articles of its load being packed into a dugout,or canoe hollowed from a sycamore log, which was the property ofYounkins, and used only at high stages of the water. The three menguided the wagon and oxen across while Charlie, stripped to hisshirt, pushed the loaded dugout carefully over, and the two boys onthe other bank, full of the importance of the event, received thesolitary voyager, unloaded the canoe, and then transferred the littlecargo to the wagon. The caravan took its way up the rolling ground ofthe prairie to the log-cabin. Willing hands unloaded and took into thehouse the tools, provisions, and clothes that constituted their all,and, before the sun went down, the settlers were at home.
While in Manhattan, they had supplied themselves with potatoes; atFort Riley they had bought fresh beef from the sutler. Sandy made aglorious fire in the long-disused fireplace. His father soon had abatch of biscuits baking in the covered kettle, or Dutch oven, thatthey had brought with them from home. Charlie's contribution to therepast was a pot of excellent coffee, the milk for which, anunaccustomed luxury, was supplied by the thoughtfulness of Mrs.Younkins. So, with thankful hearts, they gathered around their frugalboard and took their first meal in their new home.
When supper was done and the cabin, now lighted by the scanty rays oftwo tallow candles, had been made tidy for the night, Oscar took outhis violin, and, after much needed tuning, struck into the measure ofwild, warbling "Dundee." All hands took the hint, and all voices wereraised once more to the words of Whittier's song of the "KansasEmigrants." Perhaps it was with new spirit and new tenderness thatthey sang,--
"No pause, nor rest, save where the streams That feed the Kansas run, Save where the pilgrim gonfalon Shall flout the setting sun!"
"I don't know what the pilgrim's gonfalon is," said Sandy, sleepily,"but I guess it's all right." The emigrants had crossed the prairiesas of old their father had crossed the sea. They were now at home inthe New West. The night fell dark and still about their lonely cabinas, with hope and trust, they laid them down to peaceful dreams.