Chapter 4 HITTING THE TRAIL.

The Custer massacre threw the whole country into a spasm of fear.

The killing of three hundred trained fighters and a general, all renowned for their daring and knowledge of Indian warfare, must give the enemy a confidence that would be hard to overcome.

Every one wondered where the next blow would be struck and who would be the next victim. All enterprises were checked, all peaceful journeys postponed. Not till the autumn of the following year was it deemed safe for the Worth family to carry out their plan of "pulling up stakes" and leaving Bismarck.

During the year which had elapsed John and Ben had grown in mind and body. They were sturdy, strong boys, and were a great help to their father. Perfectly able to take care of the stock, they could ride like centaurs and shoot with their "guns" (as the Westerner calls his revolver) with astonishing accuracy. They used to practice at tomato cans fifty yards away and soon became so expert that for nearly every shot a neat round hole appeared in the tin. If you think this easy, try it. One can will probably last you a long while.

Long before, Charley Green had made a formal request to be included in the migrating party and had been accepted. He was really quite a valuable man now, for he had been tried in a number of ticklish places and had shown a solid strength and coolness in the face of danger.

One bright autumn day the pilgrimage began.

Several men were to accompany the family to a mine that had already been located fifty miles away. Here the winter was to be spent, and then, if all went well, another mine might be opened further westward.

The final preparations for moving were soon complete. The household goods were packed into the great lumbering prairie wagons, canvas-topped and wide of beam; the little log-built shack was left intact, its rough, heavy door swinging open.

The frontiersman's household outfit was very simple. The bedding consisted of blankets; cooking utensils of iron and tin, dining-table furniture of the same materials, a few chairs, a table or two, and the baby's crib completed the list. The Worth family had the largest library in town. It contained their great, brass-bound Bible, "Pilgrim's Progress," the Catechism (and how the boys dreaded it!), "Robinson Crusoe," "Scott's Poems," and the "Arabian Nights." These precious books were of course taken along, for though the boys' father read little and lacked even the rudiments of education, he had the pride of ownership.

It can be seen at once that this simple collection of necessaries would not take long to pack and load. Charley Green remarked that "the whole outfit wouldn't be considered security enough for a week's board in Boston."

"That's true," answered Mr. Worth, as he lifted the sewing machine (the only one for miles and miles around) tenderly into the wagon. "But our household stuff is considered very fine, and people come from long distances to use this sewing machine."

"The first of May can't have any terrors for you," persisted the ex-collegian.

Mr. Worth frowned a little, for although Charley's fun was good-natured, he had a keen dislike to being ridiculed, and had always been accustomed to considering his equipment as something rather grand-as indeed it was, compared with his less fortunate neighbors.

After a final glance around to see that nothing had been left, the head of the family put his wife and baby into the first wagon, but before climbing in himself he called out to John and Ben to go back to the corral, saddle two of the horses, and drive the remaining ones after the wagon train.

The two boys were soon busy catching and saddling the horses. As John was "cinching" up Baldy, he heard the snap of his father's long black-snake whip and the creak of the heavy wheels. Then for the first time he realized that the only home he had ever known was to be left permanently. The old place suddenly became very dear to him, and the thought of leaving it was hard to bear; in fact, he had to bury his face in Baldy's rough, unkempt side to hide the tears that would come despite his efforts.

Ben, on the contrary, was very cheerful and whistled between the sentences of talk he flung at his brother. The two years' difference in their ages showed very plainly in this matter.

"Here, get a move on you, John," he shouted, "my horse's all ready."

The older boy bestirred himself, and in the rush and hurry that followed he soon forgot his momentary regret.

When they caught up with the wagons they found the procession headed toward the centre of the settlement and almost in its outskirts.

The town had grown considerably both in population and area since we first saw it, and ordinarily the departure of a freighter's outfit would excite but little remark. The exodus of the Worths, however-one of the few families, and one of the very first settlers-was quite an event. Many of their friends were on hand to wish them good speed. The boys felt like "lords of creation" indeed. Were they not bound on a journey of unknown duration, liable to have all sorts of delightful adventures? They held their heads up and pitied their boy friends who were to be left behind-and it must be confessed that the stay-at-homes pitied themselves.

The wagon train made its way slowly down to the river, where the sheriff bade them good-by.

"I'm sorry to have you go," he said, nodding to Mr. and Mrs. Worth. "And those kids of yours," he added, "I wish you could leave them behind; it will be pretty tough on them, and besides, I'm fond of the little beggars. However," he went on, as the boys' father shook his head, "I suppose you know what you're doing. Well, good luck. So long."

"So long," replied the travellers in chorus.

The whole outfit was ferried over the river, passed through the little village of Mandan clustered around the fort, and then struck out across the open prairie. It made quite a procession, the light wagon in front, drawn by two horses and driven by Worth, then a long string of mule teams hitched to the first of a train of prairie schooners, whose white canvas-hooped tops shone in the sun. The cooking utensils in the vehicles and hung under them banged and clattered, the wheels creaked, the teamsters' long whips, which took two hands to wield, cracked and snapped.

At the head of the party rode Charley Green, with his long-eared charges, busy at his self-imposed task of "mule-wrangling." He was new to the business, and it seemed as if the beasts he was herding were aware of this. For a while all would go smoothly, the animals closely bunched, heads down, ears drooped forward, the picture of innocence and dejection; then suddenly a lanky brute would start out from one side as if propelled from a gun, and no sooner had Charley dug the spurs into his pony in his efforts to head it off than another mule would start off on the other side. Then the whole bunch would scatter, radiating from a common centre like the spokes of a wheel. John, Ben, and one of the men (called Tongue-Tied Ted, because of his few words) took a hand in the game at last, and together they rounded up the stock into a compact bunch again.

All this was very amusing for the old hands, but Charley did not seem to enjoy it.

"Mule-wrangling is no snap," he grumbled. "Why, it's easier to stop a whole rush line than to take care of that gang of long-eared, rail-backed, dirt-colored, knock-kneed horse imitators."

He had to tackle the job alone, however, for only by experience could he learn, and experience is a hard and thorough teacher.

The boys trotted alongside, now riding far ahead, now making their ponies show off near the wagons. Excursions were made from time to time to shoot at prairie dogs, rabbits, and coyotes. But even this grew monotonous after a while, and they began to cast about in their minds for amusement. "Let's go to the river where it makes a bend over there and take a swim," said Ben, at last.

It was no sooner said than done. They were left to look out for themselves much of the time, so they went off without saying a word to any one.

Soon the caravan was lost to view, and after a few minutes' more riding even the shouts of the men and the barking of the dogs could not be heard.

The boys had that delightful feeling of entire freedom and half fear which comes to the inexperienced thrown upon their own resources. The prairie was perfectly still and the heat was scorching, for the sun was still high. It was a little awesome, and for a minute John and Ben wished they were back with their friends. The thought of a cool dip was very enticing, however, and they would both have been ashamed to turn back now, so they cantered along, keeping up each other's courage by shouting and laughing. Reaching the river, they scrambled down the steep slope, leaving their horses to graze on the level, and in a jiffy were enjoying a swim in the "Big Muddy." The bottom was free from quicksands, so the brothers enjoyed themselves to their hearts' content.

They swam, ducked, and dug in the mud, as full of glee as could be. For an hour or more they revelled in their sport; then John dropped the handful of dirt he was about to throw and looked around, half scared. "Hallo," he said, "it's getting dark. We'd better get a move on." They slid into their clothes as only boys can, and in a few seconds had regained the top of the bank.

The sun, a fiery red ball, was low down in the western sky and almost ready to drop out of sight altogether.

"Why!" exclaimed Ben. "Where are the horses?"

They looked hurriedly around and then scanned the rolling prairie and sage bushes in every direction.

But the horses were not to be seen. Nor was the wagon train in sight. Not a living thing was visible on the horizon; not a sound could be heard anywhere. On every side there were only monotonous clumps of sage, and the sun was getting lower and lower every moment.

They rushed to a knoll and searched again. All around stretched the prairie-bare, still, hopeless. Then they looked at each other for the first time. Ben began to whimper.

"Come, brace up," said John, taking the elder brother's part. "I know the trail; we'll catch up to them in no time."

His tone was cheerful, but he appeared more at ease than he really was. It was not a pleasant situation for even a full-grown man, one well versed in the signs of the plains, its landmarks, and deceptions.

THE TAIL OF THE COOK'S WAGON WAS LET DOWN. (Page 276.)

The boys were in an unfamiliar section of the country, without food or means of transportation, at nightfall. Their lessons of self-reliance stood them in good stead now, and they started off bravely, striking away from the river in the direction of the wagon trail. After walking a half hour they came across the distinct deep rut of wagons.

This was a great encouragement; it was like a friendly grasp of the hand, for they felt that they were now in touch with men and living things, though neither was within sight or sound.

Only the palest kind of twilight now remained, but the trail could be seen quite distinctly and both boys took heart.

"I'd give my gun for a piece of jerked buffalo meat," said Ben.

"Well, I wouldn't mind munching a bean myself," replied his brother. "But say, won't that feed taste good when we get to the camp? Just think of that big fire with the men lying around it, and the wagons drawn in a circle outside all."

"Oh, stop," broke in Ben, peevishly. "I'm hungry enough and tired enough already, and your talk makes me ten times worse."

Hour after hour they tramped along, their courage ebbing with every step. Expecting when they reached the crest of each little rise to see the bustling camp at the foot of the slope, each time they again took up the weary march with a heavier load of disappointment and uneasiness.

Thirst, as well as hunger, now began to attack them. It was dry weather, and the dust rose into their faces as they walked, tickling throat and nose, and causing the greatest discomfort. From time to time they lingered to rest, but when they stopped the darkness frightened them, and the awful stillness, broken only by the wailing howl of a coyote and the low moan of the rising wind, drove them on relentlessly.

At last Ben declared that he couldn't go any further, but as soon as they stopped his courage failed him and he burst into tears. John comforted him as well as he could, but he was himself at his wits' ends.

"Come along, old man," he urged after a while, "let's have one more try at it."

Again they started off wearily and slowly, John with an arm about his younger brother. They had walked only a few minutes when Ben felt his brother's arm clasp him tighter and heard him give a hoarse shout.

He strained his eyes ahead. There in the darkness was an indistinct moving mass. They redoubled their efforts, and presently discovered that it was a wagon drawn by a single team that seemed hardly able to stand and moved forward at a snail's pace.

"Did you see anything of a freight outfit along the trail to-night?" said John huskily to the driver.

The man half raised himself from his lounging position. "Freight outfit?" said he, sleepily. "No."

Then he woke up a little more as Ben broke into tears again. Perceiving their woebegone appearance, he sat erect, and for the first time took in the situation. "Why, what are you kids doin' here this time of night? Where's your horses? Where's your people?"

John told the story in a few words, while Ben, quite overcome, leaned his head against his brother's arm and went fast asleep standing up. "And haven't you had anything to eat since noon?" queried the driver in wonder.

"No, nor nothing to drink," answered John, his voice shaking a little in spite of himself at the remembrance.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't help you much. I haven't got a bit of grub myself. Thought I would only be out a little while, and expected to reach the rest of my outfit by dinner time, so I didn't bring any feed myself. One of my nags gave out, so I couldn't catch the teams. I guess I can give you a little lift, anyhow. But see here!" he ejaculated, "I guess you're on the wrong trail, ain't you? Your folks must have took the other branch way back yonder; they wouldn't be likely to come over this side."

Brave John collapsed at this. He and Ben had been travelling all this weary time in the wrong direction!

"Never you mind, sonny," said the man, kindly. "We'll find some way out of it," he went on after a minute's silence; "those trails join again after a piece. Perhaps you may meet your outfit there. This branch follows a bend in the river, while the other cuts across country and meets it. See?"

"Yes, sir," said John, dejectedly.

"Come, help me get this team of mine started; you'll be sure to find your outfit camped near the fork; there's good water there and they'll wait for you."

Encouraged once more by his words, John lifted Ben bodily and laid him in the wagon. Then, after a good deal of urging with voice and whip, he got the worn-out team in motion.

For half an hour they moved along without a word being spoken; their new friend relapsed into his huddled-up position, Ben lay asleep in the bottom of the wagon, and John communed with himself. He wondered what his mother thought of their absence, and he felt the responsibility of an elder brother. He knew that the horses would turn up riderless, and that his father would send back over the trail that had been covered by the train, but would not find them. The thought of their anxiety made him doubly impatient at the slow progress made. He longed for Baldy to gallop on and set their minds at rest. Still, they moved along at a pace little faster than a walk. Each step of the weary beasts seemed as if it must be the last.

At length John, who was the only person awake, noticed that the off horse began to sway as he stumbled along. He roused the man at his side and told him he thought the animal was about done for. But the words of warning were hardly out of his mouth when the poor beast dropped like a lump, made a few fruitless attempts to regain his feet, and then lay quiet.

Here was a pretty mess for all hands!

The man, with one fagged horse and one almost as bad, ten miles from camp, with no food or water, on a trail over which hardly any one passed.

The boys, footsore from the long tramp, with a gnawing hunger and parching thirst and nothing to satisfy either, their destination they knew not how far off, and no means of reaching it other than afoot.

There was but one thing to do: set out once more and trust to Providence that the camp would be found at the junction of the two trails and that their strength would hold out long enough to accomplish the journey.

John promised to send some one back with horses and food, if the stranger did not turn up within a reasonable time, and the youngsters then resumed their weary march, John almost carrying his brother.

The moon had come out and showed the boys the deeply marked road. They had but to follow the track, so it became simply a question of endurance and pluck. The simple, hardy life they had always led, and the constant exposure to heat and cold had toughened their little bodies and had given them a reserve fund of strength which now responded to the call upon their utmost powers. Strained as every faculty was, they plodded on doggedly, hour after hour. Just after midnight they topped a little rise, and involuntarily cried out in unison. There ahead of them was a blaze that gave them new life. They had reached the junction of the two trails, and the camp. The wagons were drawn in a circle just as they had pictured to themselves, the camp fire was burning brightly in a shallow pit (to prevent its spread to the surrounding prairie) and some of the men, wrapped in their blankets, were lying like long, bumpy bundles on the ground, while a bunch of mules were feeding at a little distance, guarded by the "night wrangler."

In the centre of the enclosure, where the ruddy light of the campfire brought out their anxious faces in strong relief, stood the boys' father and mother. John and Ben ran forward as fast as their tired legs could carry them. They shouted-as loud as their dry, dust-coated throats would allow.

It made them gulp simultaneously to see how the expression of the two faces changed; the woman's growing wholly tender and joyful, the man's altered to that of relief rather than joy. John knew from past experience that while the mother would be glad to comfort and caress, the father would not permit any such soft treatment. They would be lucky if they got off with a sharp rebuke.

Mrs. Worth rushed to meet them, but her husband restrained her. "You boys go over to the cook-wagon and get something to eat, then turn in. We've got to get off soon after daybreak. I'll see what you have to say for yourselves to-morrow."

The cold supper John and Ben indulged in that night would probably not interest the ordinary pet dog of your acquaintance. It consisted of cold, greasy pork and beans, poor cold coffee without milk, and soggy bread, but they thought it was food fit for the gods. Hunger satisfied and thirst quenched, they were glad enough to curl under a wagon, a blanket their only covering and a saddle for a pillow.

Before getting to sleep they heard the teamster who had befriended them come into camp; his team had revived enough to painfully cover the remaining distance to the Worths' outfit.

They had hardly dozed off, it seemed to them, when they heard the cook's shrill call, "Grub p-i-i-i-le," and knew that breakfast was ready and all hands must be astir.

After the blankets had been made into a neat roll and put away in a wagon, breakfast was despatched promptly, for cook, even on the frontier, is an autocratic person, not to be kept waiting.

The meal was much like the supper of the previous night, except that the food was hot. The boys then went down to the creek and soaked off the dust that had gathered during their long tramp. In an incredibly short time the train had broken camp and was on the move again. The cook's few dishes and pots were given a hasty rinse in the creek and packed, the mules and horses driven in, and the fresh ones harnessed and saddled. The "day wrangler" took the place of the "night wrangler," who promptly lay down in one of the wagons and went to sleep.

The procession fairly moving, John and his brother were called up to explain their absence of the afternoon and night before. This John did with fear and trembling, for he feared his father's wrath. He got off, however, with a severe reprimand and positive orders not to go out of sight of the wagons at any time, and the boys went off congratulating themselves on their lucky escape.

All that day the caravan travelled steadily, stopping only at noon for dinner and for water. Towards evening they came near their destination, reaching a clear creek bordered with green. Up from the stream rose a hill, and half way up was a strange-looking house, part of which seemed to be buried in the side of the slope.

The boys were somewhat surprised when they were told that this was to be their home for the winter.

"Look, John," exclaimed Ben, "we're going to live in a hole in the ground."

* * *