Part 9 (2/2)
”Did war parties ever go out on this trail, do you suppose?” asked Sandy, sitting up in the gra.s.s.
”Sakes alive, yes!” replied Younkins. ”Why, the Cheyennes and the Comanches used to roam over all these plains, in the old times, and they were mostly at war.”
”Where are the Cheyennes and the Comanches now, Mr. Younkins?” asked Uncle Aleck.
”I reckon the Comanches are off to the south-like somewhere. It appears to me that I heard they were down off the Texas border, somewheres; the Cheyennes are to the westwards, somewhere near Fort Laramie.”
”And what Indians are there who use this trail now?” inquired Oscar, whose eyes were sparkling with excitement as he studied the well-worn path of the Indian tribes.
Younkins explained that the Pottawottomies and the p.a.w.nees, now located to the north, were the only ones who used the trail. ”Blanket Indians,” he said they were, peaceable creatures enough, but not good neighbors; he did not want any Indians of any sort near him. When one of 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 when you came up through the Delaware reserve--great lazy fellows, lyin'
round the house all day and lettin' the squaws do all the work. Then there's the blankets; they live out in the woods and on the prairie, in teepees, or lodges, of skins and canvas-like, moving round from place to place, hunting over the plains in summer, and living off'n the Gov'ment in winter. They are mostly at peace with the whites, but they will steal whenever they get a chance. The other kind, and the worst, 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; but the Arapahoes, Comanches, and Cheyennes are all likely to break loose any time. I give 'm all a plenty of elbow room.”
As the boys reluctantly ceased contemplating the fascinating Indian trail, and moved on behind the rest of the party, Charlie said: ”I suppose we must make allowance for Younkins's prejudices. He is like most of the border men, who believe that all the good Indians are dead. If the Cheyennes and the Comanches could only tell their story in the books and newspapers, we might hear the other side.”
The idea of a wild Indian's writing a book or a letter to the newspapers tickled Sandy so much that he laughed loud and long.
Some two miles above the point where the settlers' ford crossed the Republican Fork, the stream swept around a bluffy promontory, and on a curve just above this was the tract of timber land which they now proposed to enter upon for their second claim. The trees were oak, hickory, and beech, with a slight undergrowth of young cottonwoods and hazel. The land lay prettily, the stream at this point flowing in a southerly direction, with the timber claim on its northwesterly bank.
The sunny exposure of the grove, the open glades that diversified its dense growth, and the babbling brook that wound its way through it to the 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 high ridge, 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, pointing his finger in the direction of the pines. ”Best kind of stuff for building there is in these parts.” Then he explained to the boys the process of cutting down the trees, splitting them up into shakes, or into lengths suitable for cabin-building, and he gave them an entertaining account of all the ways and means of finis.h.i.+ng up a log-cabin,--a process, by the way, which they found then more entertaining in description than they afterward found it in the reality.
That night when Sandy lay down to refres.h.i.+ng sleep it was to dream of picturesque Indian fights, witnessed at a safe distance from afar.
Accordingly, he was not very much surprised next morning, while he was helping Charlie to get ready the breakfast, when Oscar ran in breathless, with the one word, ”Indians!”
”Come out on the hill back of the cabin,” panted Oscar. ”There's a lot of '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 the wonderful sight.
Sure enough, there they were, twenty-five or thirty Indians,--blanket Indians, as Younkins would have said,--strung along in the narrow trail, all in Indian file. It amazed the lads to see how the little Indian ponies managed to keep their feet in the narrow path. But they seemed to trot leisurely along with one foot before the other, just as the Indians did. Behind the mounted men were men and boys on foot, nearly as many as had pa.s.sed on horseback. These kept up with the others, silently but swiftly maintaining the same pace that the mounted fellows did. It was a picturesque and novel sight to the young settlers. The Indians were dressed in the true frontier style, with hunting-s.h.i.+rt and leggings of dressed deerskin, a blanket slung loosely over the shoulder, all bareheaded, and with coa.r.s.e black hair flowing in the morning breeze, except for the loose knot in which it was twisted behind. Some of them carried their guns slung on their backs; and others of them had the weapons in their hands, ready for firing on the instant.
”There they go, over the divide,” said Oscar, as the little cavalcade reached the last roll of the prairie, and began to disappear on the other side. Not one of the party deigned even to look in the direction of 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 a sigh, as the last Indian of the file disappeared down the horizon.
”Dear me! don't I wish I was going out after buffalo, instead of having to dibble corn into the sod all day! Waugh! Don't I hate it!” And the boy turned disconsolately back to the cabin. But he rallied with his natural good-humor when he had his tale to tell at the breakfast-table. He eagerly told how they had seen the Indians pa.s.sing over the old trail, and had gazed on the redskins as they went ”on the warpath.”
”Warpath, indeed!” laughed Charlie. ”Pot-hunters, that's what they are. All the warfare they are up to is waged on the poor innocent buffalo that Younkins says they are killing off and making scarcer every year.”
”If n.o.body but Indians killed buffalo,” said Mr. Bryant, ”there would be no danger of their ever being all killed off. But, in course of time, I suppose this country will all be settled up, and then there will be railroads, and after that the buffalo will have to go. Just now, any white man that can't saddle his horse and go out and kill a buffalo before breakfast thinks they are getting scarce. But I have heard some of the soldiers say that away up north of here, a little later in the season, the settlers cannot keep their crops, the buffalo roam all over everything so.”
”For my part,” put in Charlie, ”I am not in the least afraid that the buffalo will be so plenty around these parts that they will hurt our crops; 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 end of the two rows in which they had been planting, Sandy straightened himself up with an effort, and said, ”This is leg-weary work, isn't it, Oscar? I hate work, anyhow,” he added, discontentedly, leaning on the top of his dibble, and looking off over the wide and green prairie that stretched toward the setting sun. ”I wish I was an Indian.”
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