THE YOUNG PIONEERS

OF

THE NORTH-WEST.

BY

DR. C. H. PEARSON

AUTHOR OF "THE CABIN ON THE PRAIRIE," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED.

BOSTON 1890 LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS

10 MILK STREET NEXT "THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE" NEW YORK CHAS. T. DILLINGHAM 718 AND 720 BROADWAY

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by LEE AND SHEPARD, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

CONTENTS. ————

CHAPTER

I. THE FAIRY OF THE FORT.—PLEASURE AND SORROW.

II. A RIDERLESS PONY.—THE BUFFALO WALLOW.

III. THE FLIGHT FROM THE WIGWAM.—INDIAN WATCH-DOGS.

IV. THE TRAGEDY ON THE RIVER.

V. THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK.—AUNT ESTHER, THE IMMIGRANT.

VI. THE IMMIGRANT WAGON.

VII. BURR-OAK CIDER.

VIII. TOM'S RIDE CONTINUED.—THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER.—SINGULAR ADVENTURE.

IX. HOG'S BACK.—THE SOLITARY HORSEMAN.

X. A NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE.—DANGER.

XI. A PIONEER BOY'S OPINION OF THE EAST.—DISAPPOINTMENT.

XII. THE DWARF'S DISCOVERY.—BRAIN OR BONE.

XIII. A STRANGE VISITOR.—THE MAN IN THE CHIMNEY CORNER.

XIV. SECOND IMPRESSIONS.—AUNT ESTHER AND THE PLOUGHMEN.

XV. ONE SWALLOW DOES NOT MAKE A SUMMER.—TRIBULATIONS OF A FAT MAN.

XVI. FRANKIE'S SECRET.—THE INVISIBLE PURSUER.

XVII. GRUBBING.—HONEST MR. GREY.

XVIII. JOHN TOWER'S TOWN.—A WEDDING TOUR.

XIX. THE WRONG CABIN.—THE COUPLE UNDER THE UMBRELLA.

XX. THE CIRCLE IN THE LODGE.-WAKAN'.

XXI. AUNT ESTHER'S TROUBLE.—THE LAMP IN THE WINDOW.

XXII. AN INDIAN LOVER.—THE MAGIC MOCCASONS.

XXIII. FOREBODINGS.—SHINGLING THE CABIN.

XXIV. THE SILENT BOATMEN.

XXV. THE CAPTIVE MAIDEN.

XXVI. A BIRD-SONG IN THE NIGHT.

XXVII. BLACK NANCY SHOUTS.—A DREAM.—THE TWO SAVAGES.

XXVIII. THE MYSTERY OF THE MOCCASONS.—THE MAN WITH THE LANTERN.

THE YOUNG PIONEERS. ———————

CHAPTER I.

THE FAIRY OF THE FORT.—PLEASURE AND SORROW.

"WHY don't he come?" And Alice McElroy's fingers glided impatiently over the keys of the piano-forte.

She glanced again into the square below. There stood pony, saddled and bridled, pawing the paved court, restlessly awaiting the presence of his young mistress.

The morning was superb—a cloudless Minnesota sky of intensest blue, the air dry, balmy, bracing, delicious, the velvet green of the immense prairie prismatic with glistening dewdrops.

As the fair-browed maiden skipped to the other side of the fort building, and gazed from the window upon the scene, she drank in its wondrous beauty with a wild delight.

The frontier fortress was built on a swell of land remarkable for prairie land. One would think that nature designed it for just such a structure as crowned it with the murderous munitions of war. Strange that in the heart of that vast savanna there should rise a huge mound, or half hill, of height and circumference sufficient to command the entire wide-stretching landscape. Over this flower-enamelled plain, sloping from the fort on every side to the arching horizon, the kindling eye of the young girl wandered with worshipful enthusiasm.

"I shall wait no longer!" she exclaimed, decisively. "Charley has been set to some task, I warrant, and there's no guessing when he'll get through. What's the use of always having a 'boy' escort. As if I cannot take care of myself! There are no Indians about now. I shall go alone for once. Pony is as good company as I wish."

And tripping down stairs, and out into the court, she mounted her miniature steed. There was a clattering of dainty hoofs, and she was flying across the plain.

These early morning rides were Alice McElroy's special pleasure. Horseback exercise on the open prairie had been prescribed by the fort physician on account of the delicacy of her constitution, and the cough, which though slight and inconstant, gave him, of late, some concern.

But never before had she gone without an attendant. And as Mrs. Jones discharged the duties of governess to the McElroy children, Alice and Willie, and she knew her own son Charley to be brave, manly, and discreet beyond his years, he was often detailed to accompany Alice.

As we have seen, Alice expected Charley to attend her on this occasion. But as he did not promptly make his appearance, glad to assert her independence, she ventured without him.

The truth is, Alice, although affectionate and noble, was towards Charley petulant and innocently imperious at times. What queer creatures girls are, indeed! Mr. Jones, with his family, occupied a log cabin near Spirit Lake at the time of the fearful Indian uprising, and Charley distinguished himself there by his romantic adventures and heroic conduct—a mere lad that he was. He was, therefore, petted by the soldiers, and fairly doted on by Alice's mother and General McElroy, commander of the forces at the Fort.

Alice also liked him as a playmate, and admired his fine qualities. But to have a "boy" for guide and protector on her prairie expeditions, and she a young lady in her teens, "what an idea!"

With an exuberant sense of freedom from restraint, and of superiority to juvenile guardianship, Alice dashed along, now putting pony to a round trot, now to a full gallop, then resting the reins on his glossy neck, permitting him to take his own way—just as she was doing with so much comfort to herself.

Between pony and rider there was perfect sympathy. An intelligence and devotion almost human characterized the wee horse. It was a rare animal,—a thorough-bred specimen of a species once famous but now nearly or quite extinct in this country,—for which the general paid a fabulous sum, presenting him as a birthday gift to his only daughter for her sole use.

Never was beast better loved and treated. Winding her white arms around his curved neck, she would talk to him as if he understood each word. And are we certain he did not? You could not make Alice think him so stupid. She fed him with dainties from the table, and plucked for his mouth the sweetest grass-tufts. And her voice, her step, her hand were "all the world" to him.

How pony drooped with failing appetite when for three weary weeks his gentle little mistress lay sick! When, convalescing, she was supported to the window, it was affecting to watch him as he waited beneath the sill for the feeble word of recognition from her pallid lips. And when she first stepped out of doors, pony rushed frantically to her side, and would not be pacified, despite the outcries and protestations of the frightened nurse, until she repeated his name and caressingly laid her soft hand on his forehead.

Pony took short steps, but nimble, and got over the ground much faster than some longer limbed coursers I have seen. He liked so to go—no working one's passage, whip or spur-wise, with him.

Doubtless high feeding and light work has much to do with the muscular thrill of speed experienced by the well-handled and mettlesome steed. But the loved form on pony's back, so graceful and unburdensome, full of glee, praised and patted him, and encouraged his best efforts. And away, away he sped, the fairy rider's eyes sparkling and cheeks abloom, and wavy silken tresses floating on the breeze, as they skimmed along, unmindful alike of distance and of time.

Alice McElroy gave a sudden start, when at length she descried just before her a piece of woods. Had she ridden so far? She saw no trees from the fort, only commingled grass and flowers extending like a sea of verdure to the bending sky. But pony was sweating. How nice, she thought, to rest a while in the leafy shade, before returning!

Riding in among the trees, she stopped the horse a moment, listened and gazed about, to be sure no danger was near. How silent the sheltering retreat! Not a sound broke the pervasive stillness, save a plaintive bird chirrup in the dim solitude.

"O, isn't it perfectly lovely!" she ejaculated. "And yonder's a river. How clear and smooth the water is! And what splendid flowers,—there's the cardinal flower, if I live,—magnificent! Now, pony," she added, dismounting, and leaving the reins loose, "you just get cool,—don't wander off,—mind, now, while I gather a bouquet for darling mother and my dear good governess; then we'll start for home."

At which pony, with contented air, fell to nibbling the grass, displaying his nice taste by nipping, too, a bright blossom now and then, out of regard, perhaps, to Alice. And she, with an occasional glance at him to be positive he staid near, strolled by the river brink culling flowers. They grew in tempting profusion, and she soon had a bountiful store. And reclining on the yielding moss, among the feathery ferns, she began to arrange the wild-springing beauties.

"Perfectly beautiful!" she murmured. "Won't mother and Mrs. Jones be surprised when they learn how far pony and I have been to-day all alone!"

"Pony, are you there? Yes, I see you now. You're a dear good pony! How much nicer it is to ride all alone! One can do just as one pleases. Besides, Charley is so boyish! There's Tom, now," and a slight flush crept to her temples; "how grand it was, his pushing off the cliff that horrible savage that was creeping up to murder him!"

At this point she stopped soliloquizing, and hummed to herself a while.

"Yes, Tom's studying to be a minister. I suppose he wouldn't 'dare' to play as Charley does. Soldiers can play, but ministers must pray." Then she laughed. "I shouldn't like to do nothing but preach, and pray, and think about another world, about preparing to die. Death is frightful; though, if one is good enough to go to heaven, and 'old'—but I'm only—"

A slight rustling of the bushes snapped the thread of her musing. A heavy hand was laid on her shoulder; she glanced backward. A hideous savage bent over her.

The blood seemed to freeze in her veins at the sight. She attempted to scream, but the sound died on her lips. Her eyes became fixed and glassy.

The Indian's face wore a fiendish expression, as he held his tomahawk above her head. She tried to fall on her knees and beg for mercy. Then Indian, trees, water, swam confusedly round. Her eyes closed in darkness and insensibility.

The savage for a moment looked down upon the rigid features of the white girl as if undecided whether to strike or not. That doubt arrested the descending weapon. Something connected with her dress caught his attention.

"Ugh," he grunted, and, stooping, detached from her belt a shining gold chain and locket, the latter containing the likeness of her mother.

This appeared to turn the current of his intentions; for taking the girl in his arms, he bore her a short distance up the river side, dragged a canoe from out the thick shrubbery, placed her in it, gave it a quick running push, and dexterously jumping in after, paddled the light boat along.

When Alice recovered her consciousness, she found herself lying alone in the bottom of a canoe, and an ugly-featured Indian sitting in front of her.

At first she deemed it a dream. Then, bewildered, she rubbed her eyes with her hands to be certain she was awake. Soon, like lightning flash, the horror of her condition broke in upon her mind. In a frenzy of fear, she roused herself to attempt escape.

"Squaw, keep still!" spoke the Indian, angrily. "Think swim, run, get 'way? No. Water deep. Injun killee you!"

"Dear, good Indian," pleaded the terrified girl, "don't kill me. Take me back; let me go home, and father 'll give you—"

"Squaw speak no one word more!" grunted the savage, with an ominous look.

O, the agony of that moment to the captive! How she wrestled with her emotions, striving not to provoke her fierce captor by unavailing outcries!

Crouching in the swift-moving, fragile craft as it shot through the dim woods, now hidden by the pendent branches, now lighted by ruddy sunbeams, hurried on to what fate she knew not, minutes were as ages.

By and by they came to shoal water. The Indian now laid his paddle in the bottom of the canoe, and employed a long pole to propel with. Soon he stranded the airy vessel, and ordered her to get out. Easily lifting the canoe on his shoulders, and driving her before him, they tramped a long way through the woods, away from the water.

At last, they came to a spot not covered with trees. Back of it, and somewhat remote, was a line of smoke rising, indicative of an Indian village.

But the Indian did not take her there. Turning to the left, they struck into the forest again, continuing their journey till they reached an old tumble-down wigwam. Entering, he pointed Alice to a corner, took from a pouch at his side a thick piece of smoked venison, tore on a strip with his teeth, handed it to Alice, saying,—

"Squaw hungry; eat!"

Alice was faint from fear and fasting, but too wretched to partake of the untempting food. Dreading, however, to arouse his resentment, she tasted a morsel, and concealed the remainder.

When night fell, her captor stretched himself on the ground in his blanket, near the entrance to the wigwam, and was shortly asleep.

O, the long, long watch that night to Alice! She could not sleep. The heavy snoring of the savage in the gloomy wigwam, the hooting of the screech-owl and howling of the wolf without, the tumult of fright, grief, and foreboding within her throbbing breast, thoughts of her father's and mother's distress because of her prolonged and mysterious absence,—under these circumstances, her eyes were as wide open as if they never could close again, and her brain active well nigh to insanity.

She was still awake when the pioneer streaks of morning penetrated the hut. After a while the savage bestirred himself, arose, lighted a filthy pipe, seated himself in front of her, cross-legged, and smoked in grim silence.

With sharpened intuitions, Alice studied his physiognomy, to discover, if possible, some human quality to which she might appeal. But the paint-streaked copper-face staring stolidly at her, though evidently that of a youngish warrior, was repulsive and malignant in the extreme.

"Where am I?" gasped the girl, at length, with clasped hands.

"In wigwam," laconically replied her captor.

"Yes," answered Alice, startled at the sound of her own voice, "but, I mean, how far from the fort?"

"Twenty, fifty, 'hunderd' mile; big way; no git back, never!"

"O, do carry me there," cried she. "You shall have money, anything. My father is General McElroy; he'll pay you all you ask, and more too!"

But at mention of her father's name, a terrible scowl corrugated the brow of the savage, and, emitting great puffs of smoke, he muttered,—

"Injun no do it. White chief kill Injuns, many!"

Alice poured forth a flood of entreaties, sobbing heart-brokenly.

The savage drew his scalping-knife, bent a threatening gaze on her, and said,—

"Squaw hold tongue; Injun cuttee out!"

And the girl was silent and hopeless, but shook with an "aguish" terror, her sad eyes fixed on her captor, full of anguish and supplication more moving than speech.

The Indian puffed serenely at his pipe a while longer, then putting it by, drew from his dirty pouch more dried meat, and tossing her a portion, commanded her to eat. This time, half famished, she obeyed, which appeared to please her captor, who, after regarding her intently, as if deciding a matter of importance concerning her, said, peremptorily,—

"Squaw stay in wigwam!" and disappeared in the woods.

Alice, with beating heart, watched the fading figure of the savage till lost to view.

Where was he going? How soon would he come back? When he reappeared, what would be her destiny? If he did not return, what then? Alone in the wilderness, without food or fire, and no means of procuring either! It was frightful to expect his return, and starvation if he staid away.

The appalling novelty of her position brought into ascendency a new class of feelings. She had a bright intellect, and military blood coursed in her veins. Reason and courage reasserted themselves.

"If I perish, I will do so trying to escape," she resolved.

And strong in this purpose, and buoyant with a sensation of freedom now that the Indian was away, in her eagerness she ran into the forest.

But suddenly stopping, she pressed her hand to her forehead in deep thought.

Which way should she go? Grave question that.

Sinking to her knees, and whispering an earnest prayer for guidance and protection, she hurried into the hut, picked up the venison she threw away the night before, and set out on her perilous and uncertain undertaking.

CHAPTER II.

A RIDERLESS PONY.—THE BUFFALO WALLOW.

PONY appreciated the tender herbage, and the grateful shade of the wildwood, for he was "a dear lover of nature," after his manner, and perhaps would have voted, if admitted to the right of suffrage, to spend the remainder of the season there, could winsome Alice be near. He might cast his ballot thus, were it not for two objections—the grain he would miss and the titbits from the McElroy table, and the insects that abounded in the forest.

Flourish, and flirt, and lash his luxuriant tail, shake his comely mane, toss his shapely head, stamp his delicate feet, suddenly trot to a fresh place, no matter what violence or strategy he used, the hungry flies would persist in trying to suck the life-current through his sleek skin. In fact, his exertions, whether offensive or defensive, increased his troubles, attracting his foes from afar, till the air swarmed with whizzing, buzzing, trumpeting blood-suckers.

Strange, is it not, that so insignificant a trifle as a tiny fly can so harass and baffle a quadruped heavy enough to outweigh millions on millions of such enemies?

Pony endured the torture and fought the battle with as much patience and valor as, perchance, you or I would, were we subject to his annoyance. But even horseflesh will not bear everything. And pony, desirous of permanent relief, darted out from under the ravenous cloud of pitiless parasites, and trotted to where he left his gentle young mistress, attaining the flowery bank where she had sat, and uttering a questioning whinny simultaneously, as much as to say,—

"Please, Miss Alice, shall we not hasten out upon the breezy prairies?"

But the pretty wee animal saw no Alice there!

He snorted, pricked forward his tremulous ears, smelt of the earth, then of the bunches of flowers; neighed loud and shrill; waited, trembling with excitement for the familiar reply,—furiously shaking his head and whisking his tail the while at the pursuing insects,—dashed down the river bank, scenting the ground as he went, like a hound on the track; turned, and smelt up along the border of the stream; paused suddenly, as if to deliberate, then wildly wheeled about, and, with mad swiftness, struck a straight course for the fort.

How wonderful is instinct! What so excited pony? Why did he hunt for a trail that should guide to the missing girl? Why his alarm and concern? What caused him precipitately to relinquish the search, and speed homeward as if on an errand of life or death? Ah, if the dumb, yet ofttimes singularly intelligent brutes could all speak, as did the prophet's wiser beast, what might we not learn from their now sealed lips! What an infinite gulf between their inarticulate muteness and human speech! O, what our condition, were we like them unable, as a race, to embody our thoughts in words! God be praised for the gift of speech, for who but He give it us and denied it to them?

"Miss Alice, whar' you be?" And black Nancy's ebony face peered into closets, clothes-presses, behind doors, and under beds. "Now you jist stop foolin'! Dinner's bin coolin' more'n half an hour, and yer father and mother are that worried. Can't yer 'make strouble' 'nough widout hidin' away when eberyting is a spilin'! Come, honey, dat's a good girl; come eat yer dinner."

But remonstrate, scold, reason, and coax as the affectionate negress would, there was no answer.

Perseveringly the servant continued her search, hoping each instant that from some place of concealment her frolicsome charge would spring forth as she was wont, and with ringing peals of laughter, fling her dimpled arms around her neck with a kiss, or scamper through the halls, challenging pursuit.