Life at Uphill—Our tutor—Mr Mark Tidey’s first lesson in Horsemanship—Studies from the book of Nature—Our trips westward—A Strange Combat—A Hasty Shot—Something worth knowing about Snakes—Camping out—The Bear’s visit and its result—Wolves—Drawing lots—A Sleepless Night—Timely Assistance—Dying from Hunger—Consequences of sheltering a Runaway Slave—Our Tutor turns Nurse—Chances of Discovery—We part Company—A mid-day Halt—An Unpleasant Meeting—The Bully receives a Lesson—Our March Homewards—The Way Dan kept Watch—We reach the Farm. (continued 2)

“We were making our way towards it, when the increasing loudness of the hound’s voice convinced us that we could not reach it before we should be overtaken. Had there been two dogs, I should have told Dio to remain with me, but as there was but one I determined to tackle the brute, and directed him to hurry on to the cavern, where I should join him. Scarcely had he disappeared in the brushwood, than the dog came in sight, with its nose to the ground, following up our trail. Its masters must be, I guessed, close behind. Lifting my rifle, as the hound was a dozen paces from me, I fired. Its loud baying ceased, and over it rolled with its legs kicking in the air. Feeling sure that it was done for, I turned and ran, having just time to get behind some thick bushes, when the Kentuckians reached the spot where the dog lay dead. I could hear their loud oaths and execrations on the man who had shot their animal. They seemed puzzled as to who had done the deed, and vowed vengeance on his head should they catch him, whoever he was. Presently I heard their footsteps pass close by. I had had no time to reload, so had they discovered me I should have been in their power. I determined, however, to have a fight for it rather than become their prisoner, or allow myself to be murdered on the spot. It was very evident that they had no experience as backwoodsmen, or they would have discovered my trail. They had been depending on their dog, and were now completely at fault.

“‘He must have run that way, and can’t have got far, for I heard the shot not five minutes ago,’ exclaimed one of them.

“‘On, on, we shall soon overtake him, whoever he is.’ These words greatly relieved my mind and I felt sure, from the sounds which reached my ears, that they were hurrying on to the northward. As soon as I calculated that they were out of sight, I made my way towards the cavern. I found Dio crouching down at the entrance.

“‘We will hide until to-morrow morning and then pursue our course,’ I whispered. ‘By that time the Kentuckians will probably have turned back and given up the pursuit, as it is very clear they can do nothing without their dog.’

“Dio agreed to this, and by searching about we soon discovered a hollow in which we could remain concealed until the following morning, when I proposed going out first to ascertain whether the coast was clear. There was abundance of dry wood not far from the mouth of the cavern. We soon collected enough to keep up a fire during the night, and in the spot we had chosen there was no fear of its reflection being seen outside. It served to cook our provisions and at the same time scare off any wolves or bears who might visit us. We were not disturbed, however, during the night, although nearly stifled with the smoke from the small fire we kept up. According to my intention, soon after daylight the next morning, I alone first went out to reconnoitre. Fortunate it was that I did so, for on reaching the edge of the forest I found the fire still burning where our pursuers had camped, and I had little doubt that they were watching for the man who had killed their hound. I therefore turned back, so that I could keep concealed among the trees, and before long I caught sight of them in the distance. This showed me that it would be prudent to remain in our cavern another day, until the fellows had got weary of looking for me. I was thankful that they had no Indians with them, or they would have tracked me without difficulty. In the afternoon I again went out, making my way cautiously, lest I should come upon them. I had made up my mind to proceed by myself some way to the northward until I could reach a settler’s hut, from whom I could learn whether the Kentuckians had gone on or turned back again, when I caught sight of them in the distance, making apparently for the very spot where they had rested the previous night. They had evidently ascertained from someone or other that the black and I had not gone that way. My only course was to return to the cave and to remain there in the hopes of tiring out our pursuers. Though they were determined fellows, they knew nothing of the country, and were completely at fault without their hound.

“As we had plenty of provisions, we could remain another whole day, by which time I hoped to find the coast clear. Once more I went out, leaving my knapsack with Dio, and taking only my rifle and ammunition. Instead of following the path I had pursued on previous occasions, I made a circuit to the right towards a hill, from whence I expected to catch sight of the spot where the Kentuckians had camped. Should I see no smoke ascending, I might hope that they had abandoned the search and gone homewards. I had nearly reached it, and was proceeding perhaps with less caution than before, when I came full in sight of the fellows. I knew them at once, and was still more convinced who they were by hearing a ball whistle past my ears. Although I might have shot one of them in return, I had no wish to take the life of a fellow-creature, but determined to trust to my heels. Off I set therefore as fast as I could run, and calculated that I knew the country better than they did, and that I could keep well ahead, thus drawing them away from Dio’s hiding-place. My intention was afterwards to return, and, together with the black, to continue the journey. On they came after me, and I could hear their voices shouting for many a mile, showing that they were still following. I have never had such a run in my life, but I have the satisfaction of believing that I have assisted Dio to make good his escape, and if they come here, you will be able to assure them that you have no slave concealed within your doors.”

My father highly approved of Mr Tidey’s conduct and the courage and judgment he had exhibited. We had now to consider the best way of relieving Dio, who was certain to remain in the cave until some one came from us. Mr Tidey was too much knocked up to set off immediately, so my father gave Dan and me permission to start away by daylight. By taking a circuitous course, we hoped to avoid the risk of meeting the Kentuckians, should they be still on the watch for the black. We were to try and reach the cave by nightfall, which, as we knew the spot and the country thoroughly, we expected easily to do. We were looking out all the evening for a visit from Mr Tidey’s pursuers, but for some cause or other they did not appear; had they done so, we were prepared to give them a warm reception. Besides our guest and Uncle Denis, our father, Dan and I, we had in the house, Martin Prentis the overseer, and Peter, all of whom were well able to handle their rifles, while Biddy was as likely to make as good a fight of it as anyone of us with her broomstick or a hot poker, which she had kept in the stove for the purpose.

The evening, however, passed away without any disturbance, although we two or three times heard the dogs barking in the huts of the farm-labourers, while our own animals in the outbuildings barked in return. Dan and I got ready for our journey before we lay down to sleep. Fancying that it was time to start, without waiting for daylight, we called up Peter to let us out, but we did not arouse the rest of the family. We agreed to breakfast when we had got some miles from home, and by making an early start we felt confident that we could perform the distance easily before sunset.

“Massa, don’t let those white niggers catch you. Better dat Boxer go wid you, he take care if dey come near to let you know. Dey no catch him asleep,” said Peter, as with candle in hand, a red night-cap, and his striped pink shirt-tails fluttering about his legs, he opened the door for us to go out.

“Never fear, Peter, we will keep a sharp look-out for the Kentuckians,” answered Dan; “if they show fight, we shall be ready for them; we know how to shoot as well as they do.”

Following Peter’s advice, we went to the stables and released Boxer, who leaped round and round, trying to lick our faces with pleasure at the thought of a day’s sport, which he supposed we were about to give him. We had our knapsacks on our backs with our usual camp traps, besides a good supply of provisions, as we must remain out one night, and should probably have to stay with Dio until Mr Tidey could return to escort him on his journey. We had not proceeded more than two or three hundred yards when Boxer gave a low growl, and then breaking into a fierce bark, dashed forward.

“Curse that dog, he’ll be waking up the people, and may be fixing his fangs into the throat of one of us,” exclaimed some one in a gruff voice, who was concealed apparently behind a snake fence some little way off.

“I’ll stick my bowie-knife into him, if he comes near me,” said another person.

Dan was about to cry out and call the dog back, but I stopped him in time.

“Keep silence!” I whispered, “those must be the Kentuckians; they are on the watch, probably intending to make a rush for the door when Biddy opens it in the morning, hoping to surprise the rest of the family in bed. The best thing we can do is to go back and let our father know what we have discovered: crouch down so that they may not see us. I suppose they have been creeping forward to get close up to the house without being discovered.”

The loud barking of the dog prevented any risk of my voice being heard, which, low as I spoke, it might have been in the still night air. The men, whoever they were, did not fire, probably because they could not catch sight of Boxer, who was rushing from side to side, concealed among some low shrubs and thick grass. I hoped when he found that we were returning, he would also retreat and avoid the risk he was running of being shot.

We hurried back, Boxer still keeping up his barking, preventing our footsteps being heard.

“But I am afraid poor Boxer will be shot,” said Dan.

“No fear of that; the men, if they wish to surprise us, won’t venture to fire,” I observed, “and if we call him it will show them that they have been discovered; better let him take his chance, he understands what he is about. While he keeps up his barking, the sound of the door opening will not be heard.”

We accordingly crept back towards the house, but on reaching it found that Peter had closed the door, and we had to make our way round to the window of the room in which he slept. We tapped on the shutter, but Peter did not answer.

“He has fallen asleep again, the lazy fellow!” said Dan in a low voice.

We knocked louder and louder.

“Who dare?” at length asked a voice from within.

“Open the window and I will tell you,” I said in a whisper, but sufficiently loud for Peter to hear me, I hoped.

“Who dare?” he again asked.

“Open the window, quick, quick,” I repeated, putting my mouth to the chink where the shutters joined.

“What! Massa Mike!” exclaimed Peter, “is dat you?”

“Yes, yes, open at once,” I answered, almost losing patience and speaking louder than I had hitherto done.

At that moment Boxer had ceased barking. Scarcely had the words left my mouth than I feared that we might have been heard by the Kentuckians.

Boxer again burst out into a furious bark, very much nearer to us, showing that he was retreating before the foe. By this time Peter had opened the shutter, and, assisted by the black, Dan and I scrambled in at the window. As we did so we heard footsteps, when Boxer, who was a prudent dog, as well as a brave one, feeling that he had done his duty in warning us and should be safer inside the citadel than outside, with one bound followed us into the room.

Chapter Five.

The attack on Uphill—My father’s warning—The beginning of the fight—Our victory—A cowardly revenge—Mr Tidey acts as scout—Mr McDermont renews his proposal to purchase our farm—We resolve to go West—Uncle Denis decides to join us—An expedition to Dio’s relief—We discover the cave—We find Dio—His delight at the prospect of returning—Too weak for the journey—Our arrival home—Preparations for departure—Uncle Denis with us again—The march commenced—Cross the Illinois river—On the prairies of Missouri—“Westward Ho!”—Possibilities of danger—The proper place to camp—The way to bivouac—The rear-guard.

No sooner was Boxer safe inside the room, than Peter began hurriedly to close the shutter, when we heard the report of a gun, and a bullet with a loud thud struck it. Fortunately the wood was thick, or one of us might have been shot. Peter, quick as lightning, closed the shutter and put up the bar.

“Dem rascally Kentuckians do dat!” he exclaimed; “hand me your rifle, massa, and me pay dem back. Stan’ by to open de shutter for me to fire.”

“No, no, Peter,” I said; “the men are not likely to show themselves, and the other is sure to fire the instant he sees the window open.”

The shot had aroused my father and mother and the rest of the household, and we heard my father and Uncle Denis calling to each other. Peter having struck a light, we went into the hall, where we all soon assembled, with the exception of my mother and Kathleen, when I narrated what had occurred.

“The fellows are bent on mischief, there can be no doubt about that,” said my father. “They are probably not aware how many there are of us in the house, and expect to force their way in without much opposition.”

Uncle Denis proposed rushing out and getting hold of the fellows who had fired, supposing that they were waiting for others to come up before attacking the house. My father, however, advised that we should remain within doors.

“If we go out the fellows will see us, and may pick us off with ease, while, on the other hand, they cannot approach without showing themselves, and we shall be perfectly justified in shooting them down should they come with hostile intent.”

My father’s first care was to place my mother and Kathleen in safety, and to insist on their going into a store-closet, to which no bullets could penetrate should any pierce the shutters. Black Rose begged leave to accompany them, but Biddy indignantly refused to hide herself, declaring that she only wished “the spalpeens” would show their ugly faces at the door, and she would put some marks on them which they would carry to their graves. Having thus expressed herself, she hastened into the kitchen, where she lighted the fire, blowing away with all her might to get the poker into a red heat.

My father’s first care was to set one of us to watch at the window of each room, to give the alarm should any attempt be made to force them, while he himself stood at the front entrance. Peter was posted at the rear of the house. Loop-holes had been formed in the shutters through which we could look and see what was taking place outside. They had slides so that they could be closed in an instant. As no lamps were left burning in any of the rooms, those outside could not distinguish the small openings, while the moon, though waning, afforded light sufficient to enable us to see anyone moving about round the house.

Our preparations for defence were made in a shorter time than I have taken to describe them. I was looking through the loophole in my window-shutter in the front of the house when I saw a person stealing cautiously forward along the road which led to it. I could make out that he had a rifle in his hand, which he was holding ready for action. Presently half-a-dozen more men came in sight, when their leader stopped until they got up with him. I instantly called out to my father that the enemy were close upon us.

“We must be certain that they come with hostile intent. Let no one fire until I give the word,” he said; “I will speak to them first, and hear what they want.”

There was little doubt about that, however; before my father could open the loophole, a thundering blow was dealt with the trunk of a tree against the door, making it shake on its hinges, though the tough wood held firm.

“Who dares thus attack my house?” shouted my father; “off with you, or take the consequences.”

A shower of bullets which pinged against the door and walls on either side was the reply. Our assailants, disappointed in their first attempt to break open the door, hoped to alarm us into submission.

“Open the door, and let us in; we come on lawful business to look after a runaway slave, and have him we will, alive or dead, although we burn your house about your heads,” shouted one of the men outside.

Uncle Denis thought from the sound of the voice that it was Mr Bracher himself who spoke.

“We have no runaway slave within, but open the door we will not; so if you again make the attempt to force it, your blood be on your own heads,” answered my father in a firm voice.

“That’s all empty boast,” was the answer; “if you hurt any of our men, not one of you shall escape with your lives.”

“Faith! we’re wasting time talking to the fellows,” cried Uncle Denis; “let’s begin to treat them as they deserve. If they don’t go away, I’ll knock over that big blackguard Bracher, and his crew will soon be taking to their heels if they haven’t him to lead them on.”

My father, although a soldier, was as averse as any man to shedding blood.

“We will show them that they are not likely to succeed, and that they will pay dearly for the attempt if they again try to break open the door,” he said. “Mr Bracher,” he shouted, “understand that I don’t wish to be your enemy, and have no unkind feeling towards you. You have made an unwarrantable attack on my house. No harm has as yet come of it. If you will go peaceably away I will overlook the insult and take no further steps in the matter; but if not, I once for all warn you that I am well prepared to defend my house, and that you will pay dearly should you try to enter it. I again say your slave is not within my doors, so that you will gain nothing if you succeed, which you have no chance of doing.”

My father in speaking this had some hopes of inducing the Kentuckians to change their intentions, and at all events he might prolong the time so that daylight would surprise them before they should recommence the attack. It would then be more easy to distinguish the leaders and shoot them down, when the rest would in all probability beat a hasty retreat.

Of this Silas Bracher, if he was there in person, was probably aware. In spite of the warning the Kentuckians had received, they, supposing perhaps from our not having fired that we had no ammunition, or were afraid of doing so, again assaulted the door with their battering-ram; it, however, as before, stoutly withstood the thundering blows they bestowed on it.

“If they will have it they must,” at length exclaimed my father; and scarcely were the words out of his mouth than Uncle Denis, the overseer, and our guest fired. I was going to fire when my father shouted to Dan and me not to pull a trigger. A cry arose from the midst of our assailants, followed by a loud shout.

“Death to all within the house! Batter in the door, boys; a few strokes and it will be done.”

The ram thundered against the door. I at that moment looked through my loophole, and I caught sight of a party in reserve, who the next instant sent a shower of bullets rattling against the shutters and walls, one shot narrowly missing my head as it whistled through the loophole. I therefore thrust out my rifle and fired in the direction from whence the shot came. Whether or not I had hit anyone I could not tell. I was too well-trained a sportsman to lose a moment before again reloading. All our little garrison were now engaged in firing and loading as fast as they could. My father kept his post at the door, and Uncle Denis and the overseer stationed themselves at the windows nearest to him on either side, ready, should the door be burst open, to assist in driving back the miscreants, while Biddy remained intently watching the proceedings, with her hand on the red-hot poker, prepared to help in the defence. As I could not bring my rifle to bear on the party with the battering-ram, I contented myself with firing at those in the distance, but as they kept as much as possible under cover, I could not tell whether my shot took effect. The blows which the door received threatened every instant to break it in, and I suspected that we should have a fearful struggle before we should succeed in driving back our assailants. Their cries and shouts increased. Excited with rage and disappointment they rushed again and again to the assault. The firing also became hotter and hotter. Fortunately, so well sheltered were all our party, as we only went to the window to fire, then retreating behind the walls, that not one of us had hitherto been hurt. From the sounds which reached my ears I believed that the rifles of those of the garrison who commanded the entrance were taking effect. Presently, after another attempt to break open the door, I saw our assailants in the grey light of morning beating a rapid retreat and dragging along with them three or four of their number who had been either killed or badly wounded.

“Victory, victory?” shouted Uncle Denis, “Erin-go-braugh, I knew we should do for the audacious villains. Hurrah, hurrah?” The rest of us echoed his shout, including Biddy from the kitchen, while she flourished her red-hot poker above her head.

My father hastened to assure my mother and Kathleen that we were safe for the present, while we all shook hands round, congratulating ourselves on our victory.

“We must not be too certain that we have got rid of them altogether,” observed my father; “those Kentuckians are persevering fellows. If they think they have a chance of success they will be at us again.”

Increasing daylight enabled us to see for some distance around the house, but no one could we discover. We all began to believe that they had finally gone away, when Peter, who was looking through a window at the side of the house exclaimed—

“See, massa, see! look dare!”

A bright flame shot up, its size rapidly increasing. It was in the direction of a barn in which a quantity of corn and other produce was stored.

“The scoundrels have set it on fire in revenge!” exclaimed Uncle Denis; “let’s be out and after them.”

“The very thing they would wish us to do,” observed my father; “probably one of their objects in firing the building was the hope that we should rush out to extinguish the flames. Provided the fire does not extend, it will be wiser to remain here.”

Uncle Denis agreed that my father was right. That he was so we afterwards ascertained from one of the farm-labourers who had cautiously followed the Kentuckians.

The sun at length rose, when Mr Tidey insisted on going out to learn whether they had actually taken their departure. To this my father consented, and the Dominie set off with his rifle, accompanied by Boxer. On going out, he found numerous splashes of blood in the front near the battering-ram, showing that the Kentuckians had been deservedly punished for the outrage.

We had reason to be thankful that we had all escaped without injury. Towards evening Mr Tidey came back bringing the satisfactory intelligence that he had traced the retreating party to the Ohio.

Severe as was the lesson they had received, it was but too probable that they would return and take another opportunity of wreaking their vengeance on our heads. My father was a brave man, and had he been alone would have remained and defended his property to the last, but he thought of the danger to which my mother and we were exposed, and this made him more willing than he otherwise would have been, to listen to the proposal of Mr McDermont.

“You’ll be after having a troubled life of it here, captain,” observed our guest, the next day. “For my part I am not altogether unaccustomed to such proceedings in the old country, and have no wife or children to be troubled about, and should rather like the excitement of the sort of life I should have to lead here for a year or two, until I have taught the Kentuckians to leave me alone in peace. This makes me bold to offer you a price for your farm, should you be disposed to move farther westward or northward, out of their way. I know how to deal with fellows of their character, though I should be puzzled if I had redskins to guard against, or a new country to clear. What say you now to twenty thousand dollars? It will go a long way westward. I am aware that your farm, under other circumstances, would be worth more than that. Should you accept my proposal, I would advise you not to migrate to Swampyville. You have the advantage of my experience in that matter,” he added, laughing.

My father took time to consider Mr McDermont’s proposal, and he and Uncle Denis had a long consultation on the subject. He finally decided to accept the offer, and greatly to his satisfaction Uncle Denis told him that he had made up his mind to part with his farm in Kentucky and to cast in his lot with us.

“I wish that I had done so years ago,” he said. “I had an offer just before I left home: I shall not be long in settling the matter.”

Our uncle was a man of action, and observing that he should give Mr Bracher a wide berth, and promising to return in a few days, at once set about making preparations for a start.

Mr McDermont was ready to purchase the furniture and everything we did not require. Dan and I meantime set off to try and find poor Dio, and either to escort him on his way to Mr Grey’s, or should he desire to return, to bring him back with us, as my father considered that for the present he would run no risk of being captured, and he might prefer continuing with us to seeking his fortune among strangers. We gladly undertook the duty, having little doubt of what he would like to do.

“I am afraid the poor fellow must have been starving all this time, as the provisions Mr Tidey left with him can scarcely have lasted more than couple of days,” observed Dan as we trudged along.

“He had his rifle, you must remember,” I answered, “and although he may not be a very good shot, he will be able to knock over a few birds or a racoon, or an opossum, and there are berries in abundance growing in the neighbourhood of the cave.”

Although I said this, I was well aware that there were many dangers to which Dio might have been exposed. Wolves or bears while prowling about might have found him asleep, or he might have fallen into the hands of Indians, or he might have been discovered by white men, who, suspecting him to be a runaway slave, might have secured him in the hope of obtaining a reward for bringing him back. There was also the possibility, should he have finished his provisions, that he might have been afraid of going out in search of more, and that he might be suffering from starvation. We therefore hurried on as fast as our legs could carry us. We did not pass a single farm on our route where we could obtain assistance should we require it, although there were several away to the eastward.

In spite of the utmost exertions we could make, it was nearly sunset before we reached the neighbourhood of the cave. We looked about, no sign of Dio could we discover, not the slightest trail to show that he had left the cavern or that anyone had entered it. So far this was satisfactory. Though we knew the locality, the mouth of the cavern itself was not very easy to find. We had therefore to hunt about for some time, until at length we discovered the bushes which grew in front of it, when we at once began to creep through them; we crawled on till we found ourselves in the mouth of the cave. Mr Tidey had minutely described the spot where he had left Dio. We groped our way forward expecting to see the light from his fire, but not a gleam came forth from any of the passages to direct us.

“Oh, suppose a bear and her cubs are hid away anywhere, what shall we do?” exclaimed Dan.

“Shoot the bear and knock the cubs on the head,” I answered, although I knew that was more easily said than done.

Dan and I called to Dio in vain. Again I shouted, “Dio, Dio, answer us, pray do, if you are here.”

“Listen! I hear a voice; it’s very faint, but not far off,” said Dan.

I stopped shouting, and distinctly heard the words—

“Here, massa, here, all in de dark; dis niggar bery sick.”

On this I struck a match, and by its faint light I saw a figure lying on the ground in a recess of the cave. There were a number of sticks collected for fire-wood piled up close to him, so putting the match to some dry leaves which we swept up together, we quickly had a blaze.

“What has happened, Dio?” I asked, kneeling down by his side.

“No matches, massa,” answered Dio; “and him eat up all de food Massa Tidey left. For two days him had noting to put in him mouth.”

“You shall have something then without delay,” I said, giving him a bottle, which I had fortunately filled at the last spring we had passed. He eagerly swallowed a draught, and we then produced the provisions we had brought. Though weak from his previous illness, the poor black was not so far gone as to be unable to eat a hearty meal. This quickly revived him. He told us that his fear of being captured by the emissaries of his old master had prevented him going out in search of food, and that he had imprudently on the first day consumed the provisions left by Mr Tidey, which, eked out, might have lasted almost to the present time. His joy at hearing that the Kentuckians had been defeated, greatly assisted to recover him, although he expressed his regret that we should have been exposed to danger on his account. When we told him we had come to escort him on his way to Mr Grey’s, his countenance fell.

“But my father says we may take you back, if you are willing to accompany us to the west, where we shall be at a distance from the slave-states,” I added.

“With all dis niggar’s heart,” exclaimed Dio; “me go whar’ massa go; right ’way to de Rocky Mountains, if him like.”

We spent the night in the cavern, neither wolves nor bears showing their noses, and the next morning Dio, after a good breakfast, declared that he was well able to go back to Uphill. On seeing him attempt to walk, however, I judged that it would be prudent to let him take another day’s rest, while we went in search of game and obtained some more water from a spring which rose at some distance from the cave.

We had capital sport, and a fat turkey which I shot put some more strength into Dio’s muscles. We were very happy in our roomy cave, which was large enough to afford shelter to a dozen families, and we agreed that we should like to spend several days there. However, we were wanted at home, and Dio having completely recovered, we set off at daybreak the following morning.

We stepped out so briskly, that although we made a circuit to avoid the risk of falling in with strangers on the high road, we reached home soon after sunset. We found the preparations for our departure much advanced. My father had procured four waggons and several teams of stout oxen, which were considered more suitable than horses for traversing the prairies, as being hardier and better able to go a long distance without water. My father, Mr Tidey, and I had a horse a-piece, and Uncle Denis would, of course, bring his own with probably half-a-dozen more for some of the men.

Martin Prentis was to remain with the purchaser of the property; indeed, without his assistance, Mr McDermont would have been badly off. Our overseer promised, however, when his services were not required, to join us.

Three days after our return Uncle Denis arrived, bringing with him several white men, among whom was his overseer, and two blacks, slaves whom he had emancipated with the promise that they should labour for him until they had paid the price of their freedom. “We shall see whether they prove faithful or not,” he remarked, as he described his arrangements. Besides them Uncle Denis was accompanied by his overseer, who, not being required on the farm, was in search of employment. Greatly to our satisfaction, just as we were on the point of starting, Martin Prentis came forward and offered to give up his situation to Uncle Denis’s overseer, Tom Sykes, if Tom would take it, and Mr McDermont would agree to the arrangement. This he did, and it was settled that Martin should accompany us, so that altogether we formed a pretty large, well-armed party. We all had rifles, and a brace of pistols, besides long knives in our belts, and my father and Uncle Denis wore their swords.

Our uncle’s followers, including Sam Hodding, his factotum, were sturdy fellows, and if some of them were not very bright, they were all, he said, as true as steel, while he believed that the two blacks, influenced by gratitude, would prove perfectly faithful.

He brought word that Mr Bracher was said to be very ill. We suspected that he was suffering from a wound he had received while attacking our house. There was some fear, should he hear of our intended departure, that he might for the purpose of revenging himself, send a party to follow us up and attack us while on the move.

“Never fear, friends,” said Mr McDermont, when the subject was spoken of, “I’ll keep an eye on the proceedings of the gentleman, and if I hear of any suspicious characters going in the direction you are travelling, I’ll dodge their steps and come to your assistance. They’ll not follow you far, if they follow at all, so I don’t think that you need have much fear of being troubled by them.”

We exchanged kind farewells with our new friend, and not without many a regret at leaving Uphill commenced our march. We all knew that it would be a toilsome one and not free from danger, but my father had determined, that as he was moving he would move far west, where the curse of slavery was unknown.

The waggons I have mentioned were of a stronger build than those before described. They had high tilts which made them comfortable sleeping-places at night. My father and Uncle Denis rode alongside the leading waggon, in which my mother, Kathleen, Biddy, and Rose travelled, and Dan condescended when tired to take his seat with them. Martin Prentis drove the first, Sam Hodding the second, Peter the third, and some of our other men the rest. Mr Tidey and I brought up the rear.

For some days we kept Dio inside, lest he might be recognised and an attempt made to carry him off. Boxer and Toby generally scampered on ahead, coming back every now and then, and giving a loud bark as if to hurry on the train.

We moved but at a slow pace, for although the patient oxen could travel on for many miles without growing weary, it was impossible to make them advance out of a steady walk. We proceeded northward, having the mighty Mississippi on our left, until we reached the banks of the Illinois river, which we crossed in flat-bottomed boats, and then proceeding several days’ journey westward, entered the wide prairies of Missouri, the vast river from which the state takes its name being to the south of us. We were now truly in the wilderness, but “Westward Ho!” was our cry. We had numerous dangers to guard against; prairie fires might occur and envelope us in their deadly embrace; hostile Indians might attack us and attempt to carry off our cattle during the night: when crossing rivers floods might come down and overwhelm us; or packs of fierce wolves might seize any of our oxen straying from the neighbourhood of the camp; but the fear of such contingencies did not deter my father and uncle, who had made up their minds to move on until they could find a region suited to their taste. Many had done the same and failed, others had succeeded, and they hoped to be ranked among the latter.

Our mode of camping at night, having reached a spot near water, was, to form a square with our waggons, leaving an opening through which the cattle might be driven in case of an attack; if close to a broad and deep stream, the water served for one side and the camp could thus be made of larger size. The fires were lighted in the centre, and two or more men were always posted outside to give due notice of the approach of a foe. We had brought a tent for my mother and Kathleen, which was of course pitched inside the square, that they might enjoy more room than their waggon afforded, although that was made as comfortable as circumstances would permit for sitting in during the day-time. In case of being attacked by Indians, the goods in the waggons would serve, we hoped, as protection against their arrows or even the bullets of those possessed of fire-arms.

We always did our best to reach a spot of this description before sunset. Our first duty was to water the horses and cattle, then to hobble the former. This was done by fastening the fore and hind-legs on one side with an iron chain, a leathern strap passing round the fetlock. They were then turned loose to graze, their instinct inducing them, provided there was plenty of grass, to remain close to the camp. We then set to work to get wood for our fires, after filling the kettles with water; the salt meat was then put on to boil, or when we had game, that was spitted and placed on forked sticks to roast. We each of us had our various duties to attend to, some made up the beds with blankets and buffalo robes; one man roasted the coffee berries in a frying-pan and prepared them for boiling in a primitive fashion by wrapping them in a piece of buffalo or deer-skin and pounding them with the back of a hatchet.

As soon as the coffee was boiled and the meat cooked we all turned to with good appetites, our mother, Kathleen, Biddy, and Rose, seating themselves on some of the lighter packages, which were taken from the waggons for the purpose.

After a few days’ travelling we got so accustomed to the style of life we were leading, that having encountered no serious difficulties we began to hope that the dangers we had heard of were more imaginary than real, and that we should after all perform our journey with ease and safety. Silas Bracher had either received no notice of our departure, or he did not suppose that Dio was with us, for we had travelled a hundred miles or more northward without seeing any of his people. Mr Tidey and I, however, as we rode in the rear, kept a look-out for them; and had they come up with our train they would have found us well prepared to give them a warm reception. It was satisfactory, however, at length to believe that there was no risk of an encounter with them.

Chapter Six.

Dan’s eagerness for adventures—Mosquitos—A tempest brewing—The storm upon us—Rising of the river—The flood—A fearful flash—Dio takes the lead—A miserable night—Strangers in camp—Rumours of Indians—Following up the trail—The plundered emigrant train—The wolves—A prairie flower—Alone in the deserted camp—New dangers—A surprise for my mother—The halt—Graves by the wayside—The only records of the slain—“Lily’s mother sleeps here.”

“I say, Mike, I thought by this time that we should have fought half a dozen battles with the redskins, killed no end of buffalo and deer, unkennelled black bears and grizzlies without number, and trapped beavers and racoons and ’possums by scores!” exclaimed Dan, as we were seated round our camp-fire.

“Wait a bit, my boy, until we get farther on our journey,” remarked Mr Tidey, who overheard Dan, “we shall have adventures enough then to satisfy you, and enable Mike to fill up his journal to overflowing, though, for my part, I confess I shall be very glad, as I suspect will be your father and mother, if we get through without them.”

“Not much chance of that,” I observed, “or we shall be an exception to the general rule. I hope, however, if we do meet with hostile Indians, that we may be able to beat them off. Martin Prentis, who has been a good deal among them, says that they are arrant cowards, and will only attack people when they find them unprepared.”

We were, I should have said, encamped in our usual fashion, near a stream, that we might obtain as much water as we required. Along the bank was a belt of trees with a copse, which afforded us a supply of fire-wood. The weather had been exceedingly hot, and scarcely had we halted than we had to encounter an enemy for which we had not bargained. Swarms of mosquitos attacked us the moment we left the protecting smoke of the fire, buzzing round our heads in countless numbers, stinging our faces and hands and such parts of our legs and ankles as were exposed. Fortunately my mother had some mosquito curtains, within which she and Kathleen obtained shelter at night, though we who had no means of resisting their assaults were so stung that we could scarcely recognise each other.

“In my opinion we shall have a storm before long,” observed Martin Prentis, “the way these creatures bite is a pretty sure sign of what is going to happen.”

Not long after he had made the remark, on looking up at the sky I saw a thick mass of clouds sweeping across it, the stars rapidly disappearing. Suddenly the whole horizon was lighted up with flashes of brilliant flame and reiterated peals of thunder burst forth with fearful loudness. There was, however, but little wind, and as yet no rain had fallen. As Martin had advised, my father had the tilts of the waggons carefully secured with additional ropes over them, as he had also my mother’s tent. The storm drew nearer and nearer. The lightning had hitherto been at a distance, but now thick bars of fire darted through the air, remaining visible for many seconds, zigzagging backwards and forwards before they reached the ground, along which they went hissing like fiery serpents, sometimes striking into it with loud crashes. Again for a minute or two all seemed darkness, then once more the whole heaven was illuminated, the thunder all the time roaring and rattling, now coming from one direction, now from another. Our terrified horses rushed up to the camp seeking protection, although the more stolid oxen appeared indifferent to the uproar. Hitherto the air had been calm. Suddenly a fierce blast swept across the plain, shaking the awnings of the waggons, and threatening to bear them off bodily, or tear them to pieces. Scarcely had the blast struck the camp, than down came the rain. My mother and Kathleen rushed hurriedly into their tent, followed at their invitation by Biddy and Rose, while we sought such shelter as the waggons could afford. That was rain, and not only rain but hail, each piece of ice the size of a pigeon’s egg, some even larger. The rain fell in no small drops, but in sheets of water, and soon converted our camp into a pond, the spot on which my mother’s tent stood happily forming an island. With the crashing of the thunder, the roar of the wind, and the fierce pattering of the rain, we could scarcely hear each other speak. We were thankful that we had already encamped before the storm came on. Hour after hour it raged without giving any sign of diminution. I was seated alongside Uncle Denis, wrapped up in a buffalo robe in one of the waggons nearest to the river, which we could occasionally see by stretching out our necks beyond the canvas as the flashes of lightning darted across it.

“Mike, does it strike you that the water has risen higher than it was when we first encamped? Watch for the next flash, and tell me what you think.”

I did as he directed me.

“It seems to me almost up to the top of the bank,” I answered.

“I hope it won’t come higher, then,” he said, “for if it does, we shall have to harness up, and seek for a more elevated position to spend the remainder of the night, though it won’t be pleasant to have to move while the storm lasts.”

Again looking out, and waiting for another flash, it appeared to me that the water had not only risen to the bank, but had overflowed. It was meandering in various channels over the ground.

I told my uncle, who watched as I had done, until he was convinced in another few minutes that our camp would be completely flooded. He shouted out to my father, who agreed with him. Our first care was to get my mother and Kathleen, with their attendants, into their waggon, and to wrap them up as well as we could. We then, calling to the men, hurried out, splashing over the wet ground, while the rain came like a shower-bath down on our heads, to catch the oxen and harness them up. It was no easy matter to find the animals, as it was only when the lightning flashed forth that we could distinguish them, so pitchy dark was the night. First one team was caught, then another and another, we all shouting at the top of our voices to make ourselves heard. There was no time to be lost; already the water was almost up to the axles. At length, however, we got the oxen harnessed and the horses saddled. First one waggon was drawn out, and then another, but it took some time before all were ready to move forward. The next point to be considered was the direction to take. We might possibly only find ourselves on lower ground, and consequently in deeper water. My father and Uncle Denis, who had mounted their horses, rode forward, telling us to keep shouting, that they might find us again. The lightning continued flashing as before, so that we could see them for a short time as they rode away. My father had directed me to move on in as straight a line as we could keep at right angles from the river, and by turning round I could occasionally get a view of the trees which fringed its banks, showing me that we were as nearly as possible keeping the course he wished. Still I felt very anxious. I had remembered passing along a deep gully which would in all probability be full of water, and before we were aware of it the leading oxen might tumble in, and perhaps drag the waggon after them. I told Martin and another man to go to their heads and feel the way with poles, while the rest of the waggons kept as close as possible one behind the other. The drivers, however, finding the water rising, could with difficulty be induced to follow my orders. Behind us we could hear the sound of the rushing waters as the swollen river swept along, and at intervals the voices of the men driving the rear waggons reached my ears, shouting to us to move faster. We were thus advancing cautiously when I caught sight of a dark object rising up almost before me and apparently reaching to the sky. It was a tree, but in the darkness it seemed of gigantic proportions.

At that moment a vivid flash darted from the clouds, a loud explosion followed with a deafening crash, and the stout trunk was rent asunder, the branches falling on every side, the leading oxen narrowly escaping being crushed. I should have been swept off my frightened horse had he not sprang forward, trembling in every limb. The flash revealed to me one of the gullies I had been anxious to avoid. I shouted to the other men to keep clear of the danger. At the same time a dread seized me lest my father and Uncle Denis might have ridden into it, and have been carried away by the boiling current.

The men replied that they could not see their way, and from the cries which reached me it was evident that the whole train was in confusion. The roar of the waters drowned our voices. At that moment another flash showed me a figure close by my side and I caught the words—

“Me show de way, dare high ground little ahead, come ’long.”

It was Dio, who had leapt from the waggon in which he had been seated and had come to the front, the post of danger. Endowed with a keener eyesight than the rest of us, during darkness he had distinguished the ground which we had failed to see. The leading waggon followed him, and we were soon assured that the ground was rising. Though this was the case, it might again sink and we should be in a worse position than before. I was greatly relieved when I heard a shout in reply to ours and could distinguish the figures of my father and Uncle Denis against the sky. They had found a spot, not likely to be reached by the water they believed, where we could camp for the remainder of the night. They led us to it along the ridge we had gained, avoiding a deep dip, into which, had we descended, we should have been worse off than before. Of course we were all wet to the skin; but, while the rain poured down in bucketfuls as it was doing, we could light no fire to dry our clothes. Still we were thankful that we had escaped the danger which had threatened us, and we managed to place our waggons in the usual position, so that at daylight we might be prepared for enemies should any appear. When morning broke we had reason to be grateful to Heaven that we had moved away in time from the bank of the river, for the ground on which we had encamped was covered with water to the depth apparently of several feet, while the current swept by with a force sufficient to have carried our waggons and cattle away. As the day advanced, the storm ceased, the clouds rolled off and the sun burst forth, his warm rays soon drying our clothes and the wet tilts of the waggons.

The flood had so completely obliterated the trail, that my father and uncle deemed it prudent either to ride on ahead themselves, or to send Mr Tidey and me forward to ascertain the proper route to take. They had gone on in the morning where the road was more difficult, and after our mid-day stoppage the Dominie and I took the lead. In all directions were traces of the storm, trees uprooted, the streams flooded, the ground being covered with broken branches of trees and occasionally we came across the bodies of animals which had been caught by the current and drowned.

As the day was drawing to a close we were looking out for a spot on which to camp for the night. As I gazed ahead I saw some objects moving across the plain.

“Can those be Indians?” I asked, pointing them out to Mr Tidey; “if so, they may be Sioux or Blackfeet and give us some trouble.”

He reined up his horse, and, shading his eyes with his hand, gazed at them steadily. “No, that’s a waggon, and coming this way too,” he answered, “they may be emigrants who have turned back either because they have been frightened by Indians, or having lost some of their cattle by the floods have found it impossible to proceed; supposing the latter to be the case, they appear to be coming on very rapidly.”

“They seem to me to be running away from enemies,” I observed, “however, we shall soon know.”

“At all events we must try to select our camping-ground before they come up, or they may occupy it,” answered Mr Tidey, “there is a stream to the right bordered by trees. It is just the spot we want. Ride back, Mike, and hurry on the waggons. We shall have formed our camp before the strangers arrive.”

While Mr Tidey rode in the direction towards which he pointed, I galloped back and gave notice of the approach of a train from the westward. I had observed an easy pass among the hills which led down to the stream, and through it I was able to guide our waggons. We reached the ground selected by Mr Tidey in good time to camp before dark, and our arrangements had just been concluded when the strangers approached. As they drew near, my father and I went to meet them, to show them a spot near ours where they might encamp. Two men, seeing us coming, advanced towards us: one of them was a sturdy, strong, bold fellow, but the other had nothing of the backwoodsman about him in appearance.

“Glad to fall in with you, strangers,” said the first; “and if you follow my advice, you will turn back with us, unless you wish to have your scalps taken by the Indians or your cattle drowned by the floods, or if you escape them, to die of hunger and thirst as you travel over the desert to the westward, though it’s my opinion you’ll never get many days journey from this.”

“Your report, friend, is not very encouraging,” answered my father, “though, as I am prepared to encounter some difficulty, I cannot promise to follow your advice; however, as we shall spend the evening together we shall hear more of what you have gone through. To save you time, we looked out for a spot for your camp. You cannot do better than occupy it.”

The stranger thanked us. “Whereabouts is it?” he asked.

“It is a little to the westward of where our waggons are drawn up.”

“I’d rather go further east,” said the stranger when he saw it, “and place you between ourselves and the redskins. We’ve had one battle already, and to say the truth have no stomachs for another. You may take your turn next, should they come, and I am not certain that they will not before daybreak.”

“You are welcome to camp where you like,” answered my father, amused at the stranger’s cowardice, of which he did not seem at all ashamed; “we shall look to you, however, to help us in driving back the redskins if they make their appearance.”

We, however, assisted the strangers in finding a suitable spot a little to the eastward of our camp, and in a short time they drew up their waggons on it.

As soon as we had finished supper my father and Uncle Denis and I went over to the strangers’ camp, to hear a further account of their proceedings.

The story they gave of the dangers they had encountered was sufficiently alarming to make persons less determined than my father and uncle give up the expedition they had undertaken. They had narrowly escaped being carried away by a flood the previous evening, and had been only the day before surrounded by a body of Indians, with whom, as it turned out, they had only exchanged shots, when the redskins had retreated without blood being shed. They mentioned, however, another train of four or five waggons which had been some way ahead of them, and told us that they had considerable apprehensions as to their fate.

“We will hope for the best,” said my father, “if the people are prudent and keep a careful watch, I believe they may easily beat off any Indians of these parts, who never attack white men unless they can take them by surprise.”

We did our best to persuade our new acquaintances to turn back once more with us, but they had so completely lost heart that nothing we could say had any effect.

“No, no, friend,” answered their leader, “we committed a folly in leaving our comfortable farm in Ohio. We have made up our minds to be wiser in future, and look out for another location eastward, beyond the reach of the Indians. If you are wise, you will do the same.”

“From my experience I should say that we are as likely to be annoyed by white men as the redskins, and by treating the latter honestly I hope that we shall gain their friendship and have no cause to dread them,” said my father.

“You’ll act as you judge best, but I have warned you of what you may have to expect,” was the answer.

We parted the next morning with mutual expressions of good will, and while the returning emigrants hurried off eastward, we continued our course to the west, the marks made by their waggon wheels enabling us to proceed rapidly until we reached the spot where they had encamped the previous night. Here the truth of their story was corroborated by the appearance of Indian trails which led away westward. We encamped a little further on, and of course kept a careful watch at night, but no enemy appeared.

Next afternoon Mr Tidey and I were riding ahead followed by Boxer and another of our dogs—without whom indeed, we never left the camp, as they were sure to give us timely warning should any Indians be lurking around. We knew, however, that they would not attack the red-men, of whom they seemed to have an instinctive dread, but would silently slink close to us, should any enemies be near. We were looking out, as may be supposed, for Indian trails, as well as for those of the other emigrant train of which we had heard, when we saw signs on the ground which at first puzzled us. We dismounted to examine them more carefully.

“If we had an Indian guide, he would quickly tell us what they mean,” observed the Dominie. “See, here are oxen and wheel tracks, and these are the marks of moccasins. I suspect that a party of Indians out on the war-path have followed the waggons, and I fear after all that the emigrants were not so far wrong in their conjectures as we supposed. I only hope the people on ahead have kept a careful watch and beaten back their wily foe.”

“Let us push on, and try to overtake the Indians before they attack the train,” I said. “When they see another party of white men approaching, they may judge it prudent to give up their enterprise; and if they pursue us, our fast horses will enable us easily to keep out of their way.”

The Dominie, though not blind to the risk we might run, agreed to my proposal; the ground was open and level, and there was no brushwood either to the right or left which might conceal a lurking foe. We accordingly put our horses into a gallop, believing that we should soon come up with the train, or get sight of the Indians, should they still be following it. “The redskins will be looking ahead, and will not discover us until we have seen them,” I observed.

Suddenly the dogs, which had been keeping alongside us, dashed forward, just at the moment that we, from the unevenness of the ground, were compelled to pull up. On reaching the summit of one of the undulations rather than hills, which rise in different parts of the prairie, we saw some objects in the distance which we both agreed must be waggons. As we got nearer we saw that two were upset, and that from a third smoke was ascending, while from another the tilt had been torn off, one only remaining intact.

“That must be the train we are in search of,” observed the Dominie; “it has too evidently been attacked by the Indians; but I see no one moving about. Perhaps the savages caught sight of us, and supposing that we were at the head of a large party, have gone off. We may be in time to help some of the poor people, if any have escaped with their lives, though I fear the worst, as the redskins seldom leave their work half finished, and the chances are that all the white men have been killed.”

We rode forward as fast as the rugged nature of the ground would allow, prepared at any moment to wheel round and gallop back should we catch sight of the savages.

We hoped, however, as the dogs did not return, that we should have no trouble on that account. We were still at some distance from the waggons, when we heard a loud yelping and barking.

“Those sounds came from a pack of wolves,” exclaimed Mr Tidey; “I see the brutes, they are calling to each other, expecting to enjoy a banquet on the dead bodies of the slain.”

Directly afterwards we caught sight of the animals making their way through the brushwood and trees which surrounded the waggons. Above their hideous yelps we could distinguish the deep honest bark of our own dogs. Forgetting for the moment the risk we ran of being surprised, we put spurs to our horses, and galloping over the uneven ground soon got up to the spot. Neither cattle nor horses were visible, they had evidently been carried off. The scene which soon met our eyes filled us with horror.

On the ground lay half-a-dozen men, each of whom had been scalped and their bodies partly stripped. Farther on were two or three more, who had fallen between the waggons. Some of the wolves, more daring than their companions, had advanced at the head of the pack, and would already have commenced the horrible repast had not our two noble dogs, barking furiously, kept them at bay.

“I am afraid we are too late here to be of any use except to bury the dead,” observed Mr Tidey as we surveyed the melancholy scene. “But holloa! what is that among the bushes? A woman,—I see her moving. Perhaps we may be in time to save her.”

Forgetting that the Indians might still be at hand, we dismounted, and fastening our horses to the wheels of one of the waggons, made our way through the brushwood. As we did so, a couple of wolves approached from an opposite direction, and were on the point of seizing the woman’s body, when Boxer and his companion springing forward, they took to flight. We hurried to the assistance of the poor woman. We now saw that it was not she who had moved, but a little girl whose arms were thrown round her.

“Oh! come help Lily!” exclaimed the child, at once recognising us as white men: “look up mother! oh, mother, mother! speak to Lily, one word. White man come to help you, no fear now.”

In vain, however, Lily called to her mother. While I took the child in my arms, Mr Tidey knelt down by the side of the poor lady. The blood which flowed from her breast, and dyed the ground on which she lay, too plainly told that she had received a mortal wound.

“She is beyond our help,” he said; “but I would prevent her body being devoured by these abominable brutes. Do you carry the child, and I will convey the poor mother into the nearest waggon. We can cover her up sufficiently to prevent the wolves getting at her until we return, when we can bury her decently, as well as the rest of the murdered people.”

I did as he advised, and was making my way to where we had left the horses, when I heard a loud explosion, and fragments of all sorts came whizzing through the air: mercifully none of them struck me. I looked round, and was thankful to see Mr Tidey safe. I had forgotten the waggon which we had seen burning. The horses, terrified by the sound, reared and plunged, and broke their bridles. The Dominie, letting the body fall, rushed after his horse; fortunately catching it, he galloped after mine in the direction from which we had come, and I found myself standing alone in the midst of the blackened train, with the little girl clinging to my neck and crying bitterly for her mother to speak to her, while the wolves, driven to a distance by the explosion, howled and yelped around me, though kept from again approaching by the gallant dogs and the shouts I raised for the purpose of keeping them at bay.

I felt that I was in a fearful position. At any moment the savages might return, in the hopes of obtaining more plunder. I had my rifle, and I determined to defend the little girl and myself to the last. A new danger arose: the waggon was burning furiously; the flames might ignite the others, which in all probability also contained kegs of powder, and it was more than likely that the grass would be set on fire and the whole prairie would be in a blaze. Not only should I and my young companion lose our lives, but my friends would be exposed to the most fearful danger. I must endeavour, I saw, to make some effort to prevent the catastrophe; but I had not the heart to force the little girl’s arms from around my neck, and to place her on the ground. I endeavoured to tranquillise her by every means I could think of. At last I bethought me of placing her in the only waggon which remained upright.

“Stay quiet there, Lily,” I observed; “no one will hurt you, and I will come back as soon as possible. I want to try and put out that fire, or it will do us harm.”

“Don’t leave me, don’t leave me,” cried Lily; but as she did not resist. I placed her in the waggon, and begged her to be quiet, while I seized a long stick which lay on the ground, and rushing up to the fire, beat out the flames which already rose from the grass. Mercifully it was not so thick there as in other places a short distance off. I rushed round and round the burning mass, now and then being just in time to reach a snake-like line of flame which was extending towards the brushwood or in the direction of the tall grass, which, had it gained, nothing could have stopped the dreaded catastrophe. I was thus engaged when I heard a loud holloa! For a moment I thought the Indians were upon me, but on looking up, I saw Mr Tidey, leading my horse and followed by Uncle Denis. They were soon up to me, and leaping from their steeds, without stopping to ask questions, commenced stamping out the smouldering fire, which a sudden puff of wind might soon have raised again into a flame. Not until they had succeeded in overcoming the threatened danger did they speak a word. Uncle Denis then told me that they had heard the report; and fearing that we might be exposed to danger, he had galloped forward to ascertain the cause, leaving the waggons under the command of my father, who had made every preparation for resistance in case they should be attacked by the Indians. He had seen Mr Tidey catch my horse, and had been very anxious lest some accident should have befallen me. A few words served to explain what had happened, and I then hurried back to poor little Lily.

“We are safe now, Lily,” I said, “and you must come with me. Do you think you could sit on my horse, while we gallop over the ground?”

“Oh yes, Lily often used to sit on Uncle John’s horse. I not afraid,” she answered. “But mother, where is mother?”

“That other man will take care of her,” I answered evasively. “Come, I want to carry you to friends; I’ve got a little sister, who would be so glad to see you, and so will my mother. She, I know, will take care of you.”

“Lily will go with you,” she answered.

Mounting my horse, I called to Uncle Denis to place Lily in front of me on the saddle.

“Go on, Mike,” he said; “we will do as Mr Tidey proposed with the poor lady, and follow close behind you. The sooner we rejoin the waggons the better, for one can never tell what tricks the redskins may play us. Tell your father that I think he had better camp as soon as he can find a suitable spot.”

I did not stop for further directions, but rode off as fast as I could venture to go, holding Lily tightly with my right arm round her waist before me. I very naturally, as I rode along, kept a look-out on either side, half expecting to see a party of Indians creeping forward to cut me off. I was thankful when I caught sight of the waggons approaching with my father at their head. His astonishment at beholding my young companion was very great. I stopped but for a moment to tell him what had occurred. He ordered the waggons to halt, that I might give Lily over to my mother. She and Kathleen uttered exclamations of surprise at seeing the little girl, while Dio, who was on foot, ran forward and lifted her into the waggon.

“This is my mother, Lily,” I said, “and my little sister Kathleen; I am sure they will be kind and love you very much.”

“That we will,” said my mother, as Lily, looking up in her face, smiled faintly; but she had been too much frightened to speak. As I left her in my mother’s arms I whispered—

“I will tell you by-and-by how I found her, but don’t ask her any questions now, mother.” I made a sign, which I think she understood, to show her that something very dreadful had occurred.

Without stopping further, I returned to my father, to whom I gave my uncle’s message, and as we rode along I told him what had happened. We had not got far when Mr Tidey and Uncle Denis arrived. I saw that both my uncle and the Dominie looked unusually anxious. Just as they were starting they had caught sight of two figures in the distance, which they had no doubt were Indians who had been watching them; they were convinced, moreover, that should an opportunity occur, the savages would attack our camp.

We pushed on accordingly as fast as we could move, until we got within about a mile of the place where the emigrants’ train had been destroyed. It was the first spot suitable for camping. Situated in a slight hollow, four or five hundred yards wide, a deep and pretty broad stream flowing on the north side, with a small wood or copse to the east, while to the west and south the ground sloped upwards and then fell again down to the scene of the catastrophe. We lost no time in unyoking the oxen and placing the waggons in a square, taking even more than usual precautions against an attack. As there was plenty of grass round, we tethered both the cattle and horses close outside the waggons, while three men were told off to keep watch on the top of the ridge, whence we could obtain a wide view over the country. We swept it again and again with our telescopes but could discover no persons moving in the distance. We both saw and heard, however, the horrible wolves, who only waited for nightfall to rush in again on the emigrants’ camp.

“I don’t like the thought of allowing those poor fellows to be devoured by the brutes,” said Uncle Denis. “What do you say, Tidey? Will you accompany me, and try to bury them decently? We will go on horseback, and by keeping a bright look-out, there will be no risk of being surprised by the redskins, should they venture to return. I should like especially to pay all the respect we can to that poor lady.”

“With all my heart,” answered the Dominie, “and if the captain agrees, we will take Martin and Dio.”

“And I’ll go too,” I said, “if my father will allow me.”

As he did not object, we immediately mounted our horses, Uncle Denis and the Dominie each carrying a spade, and the two men a pickaxe a-piece, while Boxer and Toby followed at our heels. As we galloped over the ground, we were not long in reaching the scene of the massacre. Dio, who had the sharpest eyes amongst us, was stationed to keep a look-out, while we, securing our horses, at once set about our melancholy task. We selected a spot under the branches of a wide-spreading oak for the grave of the poor lady. As the ground was soft it was soon dug. We then carried the body to it. We were on the point of placing it in, when the Dominie suggested that we should take off her wedding-ring and any ornament about her, that they might be given to her daughter, and that they might also serve to identify her, so that should we have an opportunity we might inform her relatives and friends of her fate. Besides the plain gold ring, was another of curious workmanship with an amethyst set in it, while secured round her neck by a silk ribbon Uncle Denis discovered a gold locket. Without stopping to examine it he placed it in his pouch. In the waggon were a few articles for family use, but we found nothing of value. No letters; no pocket-book which might serve to tell us who she was; everything had been carried off by the savages. Her husband, probably, was among the murdered men; and if we could find his body, we would, we agreed, place it in the grave of his wife.

“That’s more than we are likely to do,” answered Uncle Denis; “let the poor lady rest alone.”

Accordingly, lifting her up, we placed her in the narrow grave, and although she was a stranger to me, I confess that I burst into tears as we hurriedly threw the earth over her. Martin had in the meantime commenced a larger grave for the men. Had they been our most intimate friends, we should have been unable to recognise them, so fearfully had their countenances been disfigured by the savages. The bodies too had been partly stripped, so that there was little difference in their dress to help us. In vain we endeavoured to ascertain which was the husband of the poor lady, and we had no time to devote to a close examination. We were not long in digging a shallow grave and burying the murdered men side by side.

“We must place some logs over the poor lady’s grave,” said Uncle Denis, “so that we may know it again.”

Mr Tidey agreed, and all of us plying our axes, we managed to pile up a number of logs over the spot. Three fallen trees lay near the larger grave and these we dragged over it, so as to prevent the wolves from disturbing the dead. Dio had in the meantime been riding backward and forwards, shouting out whenever he saw any of the brutes approaching: he was assisted by our two brave dogs, who kept up a constant barking, showing that they understood the duty required of them.

The sun had already set, and as the Indians, should they have been watching us in the distance, might creep up during the darkness, we mounted our horses and rode back as quickly as we could to the camp. My first inquiry was for Lily. She had been crying bitterly for her mother, asking when she would come to her, but had at length fallen asleep, and was now resting inside the tent in Kathleen’s bed.

While seated round the camp-fire an idea came into my head, I procured a piece of board, and with my knife commenced carving an inscription. This I intended fixing the next morning on to the logs above the lady’s grave. It was a question whether I should have an opportunity of erecting it. We might possibly be attacked by an overwhelming body of Indians and have to retreat, or perchance share the fate of the unfortunate people we had buried. As may be supposed, we kept an anxious watch, although there was less chance of our being attacked in the camp than while moving on, as the redskins, in spite of their vaunted bravery, always watch for an opportunity of taking their enemies by surprise, and finding us prepared for them, would probably keep at a distance. Having stood my watch during the early part of the night, I turned in and lay down with my buffalo robe by the side of Dan. I was awakened by my father’s voice arousing the camp. In an instant every one was on foot, fires were made up, and a hurried breakfast taken. We then caught and yoked the oxen, and in the grey of morning recommenced our march. Uncle Denis and the Dominie, acting as scouts, rode a little way in advance on either side, so as to avoid the risk of a surprise. My mother kept little Lily in her arms inside the waggons, so that she could not see the wrecked train. As we approached it Uncle Denis and I galloped forward to the grave of the poor lady, I carrying the board on which I had worked the previous evening. Throwing ourselves from our horses, we nailed it to the large log placed over the head. On the board I had carved, with the date of her death, “Lily’s mother sleeps here.”

Chapter Seven.

Across the plains—The march of civilisation—A halt—The trail discovered—On the war-path—An obstacle—Arrival at the river—Examining the camping-ground—An inaccessible point—Erecting fortifications—The way trees are felled in Kentucky—Strengthening our position—Mr Tidey puts us on the alert—Red-skin daring—Round the camp-fire—Evident anxiety of my father and the Dominie—Our strong point—Setting the watch—Driving in the cattle—The lull before the storm.

The next day’s journey was an anxious one. We had no doubt that the Indians were watching us, lurking behind trees or shrubs, although they did not show themselves. My father directed that all the horses should be mounted, the men only required to conduct the waggons remaining on foot. The formidable appearance we thus presented undoubtedly prevented our enemies from approaching, still we felt sure that should they find an opportunity of attacking us with advantage, they would be down upon us. In a few days we hoped to reach one of the numerous forts scattered over the continent for the protection of the white men, advancing in constant streams to take possession of the fertile lands to the westward, which had hitherto served only as the hunting-grounds of the red-men. It is not surprising that the so-called savages looked with no friendly eye on the intruders, or should have taken every opportunity of destroying them, in the vain hope of preventing other following in the same direction. The idea, however, that we were intruders did not occur to my father, or to the thousands of other emigrants who were leaving the Eastern States with the object of forming homes for themselves and families in the desert. They saw unlimited tracks of a fertile country stretched out before them without an inhabitant, and they looked upon the savage red man much in the same light as they looked upon the herds of buffalo which roam over the prairies. We had halted for our mid-day rest, without having seen any Indians, though we kept a vigilant look-out on every side. We began to hope therefore, that, content with the plunder they had obtained, they had returned with it to their villages, and that we should reach the fort without being molested. Still my father was too good a soldier not to keep as constant a watch as before. As we expected when we arrived at the fort to remain some days, there would be time for our cattle and horses to rest; we therefore agreed to push on across the prairie faster than we had hitherto done, though of course we should be guided as to our camping-places by the necessary requirements of water, grass, and wood for fuel. We might thus have to halt earlier in the day than we wished, or continue on later in the evening. The latter alternative it was important, if possible, to avoid, as should any Indians be in the neighbourhood they might attack us. The only means of averting the danger of being surprised while on the move, was to scout at a greater range than usual, so as to discover any lurking foes. While travelling I was seldom able to exchange a word with my mother and Kathleen, but as soon as we halted, I went to the waggon to inquire how little Lily was getting on. She at once recognised me.

“Have you found mother? is she coming back to Lily soon?” she asked. I pointed to my mother and then to Kathleen.

“She will be your mother, and Kathleen will be your sister,” I answered; “they will love you very much, as I told you.”

“Yes, they are very kind to Lily, they love Lily I know,” she said, giving Kathleen a kiss.

“You shall be my new sister; I am so glad to have one,” said Kathleen, returning her embrace.

Lily smiled, and I knew that though she might not forget her own mother, she would soon be happy with those who were so anxious to treat her kindly. Still I observed that she every now and then gave a startled look around, showing that she had not forgotten the scene she had witnessed on the previous day. I hoped for her sake as well as for that of all of us, that she would never again be exposed to so fearful a danger.

I should have said that Uncle Denis had given my mother the locket and rings belonging to the murdered lady.

“You will take better care of them than I can,” he said, a he drew them out of his pouch wrapped in a piece of buck skin, and handed them to her without looking at them. “When the little girl is old enough you can give them to her, and tell her how they were obtained: she will long before that have forgotten all about the circumstances.”

My mother, not having time to examine them, put them carefully in a bag containing cherished treasures of her own.

We had scarcely halted two hours, when my father’s voice was heard, ordering the men to prepare for moving on. The oxen were soon yoked to, the horses saddled, and we continued our journey across the boundless plain.

It was my turn to scout ahead with Mr Tidey. My father had charged us not to go so far as to run the risk of being cut off from the train. We therefore frequently halted, especially when we gained the summit of any of the slight elevations which are frequently met with on the prairie. I was a short distance ahead when I saw some marks on the ground which I fancied must be the trail of buffaloes. I waited until my companion came up, when I pointed them out to him.

“That’s an Indian trail,” he said, as he carefully examined the marks. “See, there are three paths close together at fixed distances apart. I will tell you how they are produced. The framework of their lodges are made, as you know, of long poles. These on a journey are tied to each side of a pony, the ends trailing on the ground. It is very evident from the way the grass is trampled down, that a long line of ponies has passed this way, one following the other. The centre line, which is deepest, you see, is caused by the feet of the ponies and the two outer lines by the trailing of the poles over the ground. There must have been women and children with them, which is satisfactory, as it shows that although the party was a large one, they were not out on the war-path. They were going northward, crossing our course; whether the men who attacked the emigrant train belong to them or not, it is hard to say; perhaps they were the braves of another tribe, and those whose trail we see were escaping from them.”

“You read the marks as well as an Indian could do,” I observed; “and I have no doubt that you are right.”

“I have given my mind to the subject, and the man who improves his opportunities in these wilds can soon attain the knowledge possessed by the redskins. I have met with many white trappers and hunters who were fully equal to the most sagacious Indian scouts.”

“What do you advise then?” I asked.

“That we should proceed straight on, as we are going, and keep as strict a watch at night and as bright a look-out during the day as heretofore. The poor fellows who have been massacred must have been very careless, and allowed themselves to be deceived by the Indians. It was evidently an act of treachery, and I should say that a party of the Indians made their way into the camp on some pretence or other, probably of trading, and suddenly attacked their too confiding hosts. I observed that none of the white men had been killed by bullets or arrows, and it is likely that the poor lady lost her life by a stray shot from one of her own party.”

“We had better let my father and Uncle Denis know that we have seen the trails, and they will judge what is best to be done,” I observed.

“Ride back then, Mike, and tell them what I advise,” answered Mr Tidey; “I will continue to look out ahead. Just say that I think it possible that another war-party may be pursuing the tribe whose trail we have seen, and disappointed at not overtaking them, that they may make an attempt on our camp, or venture to attack us on the march.”

I accordingly galloped back, looking as I did so to the southward, as it was from that direction the war-party might, I thought, appear. I however saw no human beings moving in the distance, but I caught sight of a herd of deer, and greatly longed to be able to go in chase, as we were much in want of fresh provisions. We had intended to halt for the purpose of hunting, but the risk of falling in with enemies made my father deem it prudent not to allow any one to go to a distance from the camp. I soon got back to the waggons, and reported what Mr Tidey had said.

“We will follow his advice,” said my father, “and if Indians appear, we may, I hope, send them to the right-about. We will at all events take good care not to allow any strangers to enter our camp, or to come within range of our rifles while we are on the march. Now go, Mike, to the support of Mr Tidey; but keep in sight, and fall back should you see any Indians approaching.”

I was soon up with the Dominie. “If all travellers were as cautious as your father, the redskins would not so often succeed,” he observed.

We were now crossing an elevated plateau with slightly undulating ground in the far distance. By standing up in our stirrups we could obtain a wide view over the country on every side. We had not proceeded far when I saw, away to the southward, what seemed like a huge serpent moving through the grass, although I knew very well that a serpent it could not be. I pointed it out to my companion, who carried a telescope at his back, telling him what I at first thought it like.

He took a glance through the glass. “The distance deceives you,” he answered, as calmly as if it was a matter of very little consequence, “that is a band of Indians on the war-path. I am certain of it. They are moving eastward; probably they are scouts, and long ago have discovered our waggons. What their intention is, I cannot say, but possibly it is to get into our rear, without, as they suppose, being seen. We must keep an eye upon them, but not on any account alter our course.”

As before, I rode back to tell my father what we had seen. He also had discovered the war-party, and had determined what to do. The rough map we possessed showed us that there was a river ahead, but its character and the position of the fords were indistinctly marked. His object was, if possible, to cross before nightfall, so as to place it between our camp and the enemy. From thence a horseman could reach Fort Hamilton by galloping hard, in three or four days, we calculated, and should the Indians appear in overwhelming numbers, we might send forward for assistance. Either Mr Tidey or Uncle Denis would be ready to undertake the expedition. Just as I was about to rejoin him, Mr Tidey fell back to consult with my father and uncle. At that moment too Dio came up from the rear, where he had been stationed; to tell us that he had made out another numerous party of Indians following our trail, but that they were still so far off that some time must elapse before they could overtake us. On hearing this my father hurried to the rear, to take a look at the strangers through his telescope. He immediately sent back Dio, who had accompanied him, to tell the drivers to push forward, with the utmost speed of which the oxen were capable, while Mr Tidey and I once more rode ahead to ascertain the best ground for the train to pass over. We could no longer make out the Indians we had before seen to the southward. We conjectured therefore that they had concealed themselves, and intended joining the party following our trail.

“They must have halted, or we should by this time have seen them nearer,” observed Mr Tidey. “My idea is that they are waiting for the chance of our train being stopped by a break-down, and fancy that they shall take us by surprise while we are off our guard. They are evidently under the impression that we have not discovered them, for though they are well aware that our rifles can shoot further than their bows and arrows, they are fortunately ignorant of the power of the telescope, and that we can see them much further than they can see us, keen as is their eyesight.”

Whatever might have been the intention of the savages, they did not approach. We rode on, without having to deviate from our course, the ground being sufficiently level for the transit of the waggons. In a short time we saw extended before us an undulating region, though we had little doubt that we should be able to proceed along the hollows, without having to make any great détour. Already the evening was approaching, and as we had not found water during the day, we were eagerly looking out for a stream or pond at which we and our animals might quench our thirst. The sun was shining brightly, and, late in the day as it was, the heat was considerable. Presently I caught the sheen of water, but it appeared to be much below the level on which we were riding. I pointed it out to Mr Tidey, and as we galloped on we saw the summit of a line of cliffs.

“There is a river between us and the ground we wish to reach,” observed Mr Tidey, “and I very much fear it is one we shall find it difficult to cross.”

“If you will hold my horse, I will go ahead and ascertain the nature of the ground,” I said.