Frank on the Prairie Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  The Wagon Train.

  On awaking the next morning, the boys found themselves surrounded bynew scenes. While they were dressing, they looked out at the window,and obtained their first view of a wagon train, which was juststarting out for the prairie. The wagons were protected by canvascovers, some drawn by oxen, others by mules, and the entire trainbeing accompanied by men both on foot and on horseback. Fat, sleekcows followed meekly after the wagons, from behind whose coveringpeeped the faces of women and children--the families of the hardypioneers now on their way to find new homes amid the solitude of thatwestern region.

  The boys watched the train until it disappeared, and then went downstairs to get their breakfast. Uncle James was not to be found. Infact, ever since leaving Portland, he seemed to have forgotten hispromise to his brother, for he never bothered his head about hisnephews. It is true, he had watched them rather closely at thebeginning of the journey, but soon discovered that they were fullycapable of taking care of themselves and the trapper besides. He didnot make his appearance until nearly two hours after the boys hadfinished their breakfast, and then he rode up to the hotel mounted ona large, raw-boned, ugly-looking horse. He was followed by thetrapper, who was seated in a covered wagon, drawn by a span of mules,while behind the wagon were two more horses, saddled and bridled.

  "Now, then, boys," said Uncle James, as he dismounted and tied hishorse to a post, "where's your baggage? We're going with that trainthat went out this morning."

  "An' here, youngsters," exclaimed Dick, as he climbed down out of hiswagon, "come an' take your pick of these two hosses. This one," hecontinued, pointing to a small, gray horse, which stood impatientlypawing the ground and tossing his head--"this feller is young andfoolish yet. He don't know nothin' 'bout the prairy or buffalerhuntin'; an' if whoever gets him should undertake to shoot a riflewhile on his back, he would land him on the ground quicker norlightnin'. I 'spect I shall have to larn him a few lessons. But thisone"--laying his hand on the other horse, which stood with his headdown and his eyes closed, as if almost asleep--"he's an ole buffalerhunter. The feller that your uncle bought him of has jest come in fromthe mountains. He can travel wusser nor a steamboat if you want himto, an' you can leave him on the prairy any whar an' find him when youcome back. Now, youngster," he added, turning to Frank, "which'll youhave?"

  "I have no choice," replied Frank. "Which one do you want, Archie?"

  "Well," replied the latter, "I'd rather have the buffalo hunter. Helooks as though he hadn't spirit enough to throw a fellow off, butthat gray looks rather vicious."

  "Wal, then, that's settled," said the trapper; "so fetch on yourplunder, an' let's be movin' to onct."

  Their baggage, which consisted of three trunks--small, handy affairs,capable of holding a considerable quantity of clothing, but notrequiring much space--was stowed away in the wagon. When Uncle Jameshad paid their bill at the hotel, they mounted their horses, and thetrapper, who now began to feel more at home, took his seat in thewagon, and drove after the train. Archie soon began to think that hehad shown considerable judgment in the selection of his horse, forthey had not gone far before the gray began to show his temper. Aftermaking several attempts to turn his head toward home--a proceedingwhich Frank successfully resisted--he began to dance from one side ofthe street to the other, and ended by endeavoring to throw his riderover his head; but the huge Spanish saddle, with its high front andback, afforded him a secure seat; and after receiving a few sharpthrusts from Frank's spurs, the gray quietly took his place by theside of Archie's horse, and walked along as orderly and gentle ascould be wished.

  The trapper, who was now the chief man of the party, had superintendedthe buying of their outfit, and, although it was a simple one, theywere still well provided with every necessary article. The boys weredressed in complete suits of blue jeans, an article that will resistwear and dirt to the last extremity, broad-brimmed hats, and heavyhorseman's boots, the heels of which were armed with spurs.

  Their weapons, which were stowed away in the wagon, consisted of abrace of revolvers and a hunting-knife each, and Archie owned a shortbreech-loading rifle, while Frank had purchased a common "patch"rifle. The wagon also contained provisions in abundance--coffee, cornmeal, bacon, and the like--and ammunition for their weapons. Theirappearance would have created quite a commotion in the quiet littlevillage of Lawrence, but in St. Joseph such sights were by no meansuncommon. Buckskin was much more plenty than broadcloth, and thepeople who passed them on the streets scarcely noticed them.

  At length, just before dark, they overtook the train, which hadstopped for the night. The wagons were drawn up on each side of theroad, and altogether the camp presented a scene that was a pleasantone to men wearied with their day's journey. Cattle were feedingquietly near the wagons, chickens cackled joyously from their coops,men and women were busily engaged with their preparations for supper,while groups of noisy children rolled about on the grass, filling thecamp with the sounds of their merry laughter.

  The trapper drove on until he found a spot suitable for their camp,and then turned off the road and stopped. He at once began tounharness the mules, while the boys, after removing their saddles,fastened their horses to the wagon with a long rope, and allowed themto graze. When the trapper had taken care of his mules, he started afire, and soon a coffee-pot was simmering and sputtering over theflames, and several slices of bacon were broiling on the coals. Aftersupper, the boys spread their blankets out under the wagon, and, beingweary with their day's ride (for it was something new to them), soonfell asleep.

  The next morning, when they awoke it was just daylight. After drawingon their boots, they crawled out from under the wagon, and found thetrapper, standing with his hat off, and his long arms extended as ifabout to embrace some invisible object.

  "I tell you what, youngsters," said he, as the boys approached; "ifthis aint nat'ral; jest take a sniff of that ar fresh air! Here," hecontinued, looking about him with a smile of satisfaction--"here, Iknow all 'bout things. I'm to hum now. Thar's nothin' on the prairythat Dick Lewis can't 'count fur. But, youngsters, I wouldn't travelon them ar steamboats an' railroads ag'in fur all the beaver in theMissouri River. Every thing in them big cities seemed to say to me,'Dick, you haint got no business here.' Them black walls an' stoneroads; them rumblin' carts an' big stores, war sights I never seedafore, an' I never want to see 'em ag'in. I know I was treated mightykind, an' all that; but it couldn't make me feel right. I didn't likethem streets, windin' an' twistin' about, an' allers loosin' a feller;an' I wasn't to hum. But _now_, youngsters, I know what I'm doin'.Nobody can't lose Dick Lewis on the prairy. I know the names of allthe streets here; an', 'sides, I know whar they all lead to. An' asfur varmints, thar's none of 'em that I haint trapped an' fit. An'Injuns! I know a leetle 'bout them, I reckon. It's funny that them arcity chaps don't know nothin' 'bout what's goin' on out here; an' itshows that all the larnin' in the world aint got out o' books. Sendone of 'em here, an' I could show him a thing or two he never heerntell on. But I must be gettin' breakfast, 'cause we'll be off ag'insoon; an' on the prairy every feller has to look out fur himself. Youcan't pull a ring in the wall here, an' have a chap with white huntin'shirt an' morocker moccasins on come up an' say: 'Did you ring, sir?'An' how them ar fellers knowed which room to come to in them bighotels, is something I can't get through my head. Thar's no big bellto call a feller to grub here. Take one of them city chaps an' givehim a rifle, an' pint out over the prairy an' tell him to go an' huntup his breakfast, an' how would he come out? Could he travel by thesun, or tell the pints of the compass by the stars? Could he lasso an'ride a wild mustang, or shoot a Injun plumb atween the eyes at twohundred an' fifty yards? No! I reckon not! Wal, thar's a heap o'things I couldn't do; an' it shows that every man had oughter stick tohis own business. It's all owin' to a man's bringin' up."

  While the trapper spoke he had been raking together the fire that hadnearly gone out; and having got it fairly started, he began the w
orkof getting breakfast. The boys, after rolling up their blankets andpacking them away in the wagon, amused themselves in watching themovements of the emigrants, who now began their preparations for theirday's journey. By the time Uncle James awoke, the trapper pronouncedtheir breakfast ready. After they had done ample justice to the homelymeal (and it was astonishing what an appetite the fresh invigoratingair of the prairie gave them), the boys packed the cooking utensilsaway in the wagon while the trapper began to harness the mules. Thiswas an undertaking that a less experienced man would have found to beextremely hazardous, for the animals persisted in keeping their heelstoward him, and it was only by skillful maneuvering that Dicksucceeded in getting them hitched to the wagon. By the time this wasaccomplished, Uncle James and the boys had saddled their horses andfollowed the trapper, who drove off as though he perfectly understoodwhat he was about, leaving the train to follow at its leisure.

  Dick acted as if he had again found himself among friends from whom hehad long been separated; but it was evident that sorrow was mingledwith his joy, for on every side his eye rested on the improvements ofcivilization. The road was lined with fine, well-stocked farms, andthe prairie over which his father had hunted the buffalo and foughtthe Indian, had been turned up by the plow, and would soon be coveredwith waving crops. No doubt the trapper's thoughts wandered into thefuture, for, as the boys rode up beside the wagon, he said, withsomething like a sigh:

  "Things aint as they used to be, youngsters. I can 'member the timewhen thar was'nt a fence within miles of here, an' a feller could goout an' knock over a buffaler fur breakfast jest as easy as thatfarmer over thar could find one of his sheep. But the ax an' plow havemade bad work with a fine country, the buffaler an' Injun have beenpushed back t'wards the mountains, an' it won't be long afore thar'llbe no room fur sich as me; an' we won't be missed neither, 'cause whenthe buffaler an' beaver are gone thar'll be nothin' fur us to do.These farms will keep pushin' out all the while; an' when folks,sittin' in their snug houses beside their warm fires, hear tell of theInjuns that onst owned this country, nobody will ever think that sichfellers as me an' Bill Lawson an' ole Bob Kelly ever lived. If oleBill was here now, he would say: 'Let's go back to the mountains,Dick, an' stay thar.' He wouldn't like to see his ole huntin' groundswasted in this way, an' I don't want to see it neither. But I knowthat the Rocky Mountains an' grizzly bars will last as long as Ishall, an' thar'll be no need of trappers an' hunters an' guides arterthat."

  Dick became silent after this, and it was not until the train haltedfor the noon's rest, that he recovered his usual spirits.