Chapter X Nebraska
The Peniman family found the little town of Bellevue the most pleasant and attractive place they had struck in many days’ travel, and it comforted the hearts of the elders of the party to find that after all Nebraska was not the treeless and verdureless wilderness they had been led to expect.
Located on the banks of the great Missouri, overlooking the green wood-crowned bluffs, with the soft verdant valley winding its way below, they were not surprised as they gazed upon it that the old fur-trader, Manuel Lisa, had named it “belle vue,” or “beautiful view,” so many years before.
This was the stopping-place of all the adventurers to the far western land. Trappers, traders, travelers and prospective settlers all stopped here for rest and refreshment before making the plunge into the wilderness that lay beyond on the trackless plains. Missionaries here made their first attempt to civilize and Christianize the Territory, and Mr. and Mrs. Peniman found great comfort and solace in sitting again in a church, even though not of their own particular faith, and listening to the word of God.
They made their preparations to leave this last anchor to civilization with much reluctance and regret. They wished many times that they might consider their journey ended here. But the object of that journey had been to so locate that each of their growing lads might be enabled to homestead his 160 acres as soon as he was old enough, and the bottom lands of the Missouri were already pretty well squatted by trappers and settlers. So after a pleasant and restful day at Bellevue they purchased the last essentials for their home in the wilderness, loaded them into the Carroll wagon, and started westward on the most trying and perilous part of their journey.
They crossed the Platte River, a winding, shallow stream twisting along over its flat sandy bottom, which gave the Territory the Indian name of “Ne-bras-kah,” or “Flat Water,” and started across the prairies.
After leaving the Oregon Trail there was not even a track to be seen on the prairies. There was no road, nor any sign of a road. All to the westward seemed an unbroken wilderness. Meadow-larks sang in the grass, deer or antelope now and then flitted across their vision far away in the knee-high sage-brush, and their eyes strained westward over an ocean of immensity that looked as if it stretched away unbroken to the very edge of the world.
They watched the sun go down that night as the voyager sees it go down at sea, sinking inch by inch with no obstructing obstacle between, until its red rim sank below the horizon, leaving them alone on the vast solitude of the prairies.
It was well for the family that they had carried wood and water from their last camp at Bellevue, for there was neither wood nor water in sight.
The wagons were drawn up in a semicircle, the cow and horses placed inside, and the family gathered close together about their supper table, as if feeling the need of human contact in the vast loneliness that brooded about them.
They woke the next morning with the blaze of sunshine in their faces. It was a marvelous thing, this awakening on the silent unbroken surface of the plains, with the sun coming up like a great crimson hogshead over the flat rim of the earth, changing it from black to grey, from grey to pink, from pink to rose and blue and green and purple; and in all that great expanse, over which the eye could travel in every direction to the very limits of the horizon, to see no living creature but each other.
The day was hot and cloudless, and as the wagons bumped and crawled along through the grass something of the dread silence and loneliness of the prairies crept into their hearts, and a sort of awe came over them. The children found themselves dropping their voices and speaking low, as if they were in church; and Mr. and Mrs. Peniman avoided each other’s eyes and spoke but seldom, as their gaze stared out over the interminable plains.
There were no trees in this land through which they were now traveling, and the only bird that gladdened their ears or eyes for many a long day to come were the little meadow-larks, which perched upon a swaying stalk or weed uttered its clear, gurgling melody.
One morning as they were jogging along, Lige, who sat beside Joe in the wagon, suddenly jogged his arm.
“Look, Joe,” he cried, “what are all those little humps in the ground? See, there are thousands of them! Aren’t they queer? Let’s ask Father what they are.”
His father heard and smiled. “Just watch,” he said. “And Ruthie, thee and Sam and Paul should watch, too. Those are little houses, and some queer little fellows live in them.”
“What lives in them?” asked Joe. At the same moment Sam, who was lying on the beds in the back of the wagon, stuck his head out of the rear curtains and gave a squeal of delight.
“Oh, I see!” he shouted. “Look at that queer little feller sittin’ right up on the roof of his house! Come on out, Ruth, greatest sight you ever saw! Queerest little things, bigger’n gophers and not striped, just kind o’ plain brown, with their arms folded across their chests. What in the world are they, Father?”
“They are prairie dogs,” answered Mr. Peniman. “We are passing through what is called a ‘prairie dog town.’ I have read of them many times, but have never seen them before.”
They had stopped the teams, and the family all scrambled out of the wagons to see this strange and novel sight of a “town” in which nothing lived but prairie dogs.
“Why, just see,” cried Joe, “there are millions of them! Just look at that fellow over there, Ruth, sitting up on the roof of his house scolding at us!”
And truly there did appear to be millions of them. The whole surface of the ground as far as they could see was dotted over with the queer little dome-like houses, made of the clayey soil of the prairies thrown up into small heaps or mounds; and on each sat a small reddish-grey animal, a little larger than a squirrel, with tail cocked up saucily over their backs, and paws folded demurely across their fat little stomachs, gazing with bright, bead-like eyes at the intruders, of whom they did not seem to be in the least afraid. On each side of the face were pouches, in which they carry out the dirt when burrowing the holes in which they live, and in which they pouch nuts, roots, and other dainties. They seemed filled with curiosity, and as they came swarming up out of their holes to sit on the tops of their houses, they made a peculiar barking noise, something like the bark of a young puppy.
This amused the children immensely. “How deep are their holes, Father?” asked Sam.
“I have read that they are tunneled back long distances, and that many of the underground passages connect the mounds with one another. I have also read,” he continued with a twinkle in his eyes, “that a prairie dog, an owl, and a rattlesnake lives in every hole.”
“A rattlesnake?” cried Ruth. “Wouldn’t it bite the prairie dogs?”
Joshua Peniman laughed. “Well, I don’t know, Ruth, that is what I read; but my own opinion is that as the main business of little Mrs. Prairie Dog is to keep snakes and other varmints from eating her little ones I hardly think she would tolerate a rattler in her house. But come now, jump in, we must not spend any more time here. No doubt there are many just as interesting and curious things to see farther on.”
They stopped early that night on account of the heat, wanting to save the horses all they could. A strong wind came up about sundown, which soon grew to be a gale, and which almost blew them off their feet as they scampered about on the prairie trying to find something of which to make their fire.
It was their first taste of the “Nebraska zephyrs,” of which they were to see so much later on, and it kept the whole family busy chasing about after hats and bonnets, brooms, dish-pans, and all sorts of things that blew out of the wagons.
“I can’t find anything to build a fire of, Mother,” cried Joe after a vain search, “there’s nothing out here, only wind and grass. Don’t you think we’d better use some of our stored-up wood?”
Lige, who was just returning from a prolonged chase after Ruth’s sunbonnet, suddenly stopped short and pointed away across the prairies. Joe turned and looked, then remained staring.
“What in the name of goodness——” he ejaculated.
“Look, Mother, what are those things over there?” called Lige. “Do you think they are some kind of animals?”
“Sheep!” ventured Sam, staring away intently toward where a number of dark objects were moving rapidly toward them from the south.
“No, they’re too small for sheep,” said Mrs. Peniman, puckering her forehead and narrowing her eyes; “what in the world are they?”
“They’ve got a queer gait,” cried Joe, “and they’re coming a-whizzing. Could they be wild turkeys?”
“Oh, no, they’re not fowl of any kind.”
“Will they bite, Mother?” queried little Mary.
“Maybe they’re coyotes,” suggested Paul.
Just then Mr. Peniman, who had been out looking after the horses, appeared.
“Look, Father, what are those things over yonder?” cried Lige.
Mr. Peniman shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed intently out over the prairies. Then he began to laugh.
“Hurry up, boys,” he cried, “here’s the stuff for your fire coming to you! Catch as much of it as you can as it goes by, for I warn you that with this wind it won’t wait long on anybody.”
“But what is it, Father?” asked Joe curiously.
“It is called ‘tumble-weed.’ It is a sort of bush, with a small, slender stalk. During the summer this bush grows almost round, and when the fibre of the plant dries the stalk becomes brittle and the first hard wind breaks it off; then the bush rolls over and over across the plains, sometimes traveling for miles before a high wind.”
“Oh-h,” cried Lige, with a falling inflection of disappointment in his voice, “I thought it might be something interesting.”
“So it is something interesting,” said Mrs. Peniman. “Did you ever see a more interesting sight than that? It looks like a Lilliputian army marching toward us! Hurry up everybody, get in line, let’s stop all we can. I know they will make a splendid fire.”
Always ready for anything new the children hastened to form in a line, even down to small David, who was continually being blown off his short legs. As the tumble-weeds came toward them, rolling over and over before the strong south wind, they had a great game, stopping them, chasing after them and running them down, while Mr. Peniman piled them up and threw a horse-blanket over them to keep them from blowing away.
It was a great romp, and the children shrieked with laughter as they all chased after the strange, grotesque bundles, with the wind beating in their faces and almost carrying them away.
“Whew! that’s more fun than pom-pom-pull-away!” puffed Lige, throwing himself flat on a great tumble-weed which was trying hard to elude him. And Mrs. Peniman, with her hair blown down and her cheeks as red as Ruth’s, declared it was the liveliest game she had taken part in for many a long day.
When broken up and crowded under the pot and into the little sheet-iron camp-stove they found it excellent fuel. It burned out quickly, but made a hot fire, little smoke, and saved the precious store of firewood so laboriously gathered up and so carefully hoarded for emergencies.
That night the moon was full, and the boys begged to sleep in their blankets outside. As the night was very hot and it was close and stifling under the canvas their mother gave her consent. The dry prairie grass made a good mattress, and rolled up in their blankets like old campaigners they lay looking up into the wonderful night sky for a long time before they could fall asleep.
At last the fatigues of the day and the deep quiet of the prairies lulled them to rest. Sam and Lige were fast asleep and Joe was beginning to doze, when there came to his ears a sound so weird, so blood-curdling that he sprang up, his heart beating heavily.
His first instinct was to grab for his musket. Spotty was standing up, with hair bristling and lips drawn back, growling fiercely.
The wagons were, as was their custom these days, drawn up into a semicircle, and the boys were lying within it close to the big wagon. Just back of the wagon the three teams of horses were picketed, and just beyond them the cow.
As Joe stood listening intently, his musket in his hand, he heard the horses begin to plunge and snort.
He glanced at his father, but the sight of the thin, tired face of the sleeping man stopped him.
For a moment all was silent as the grave. Then again came the long, hoarse, raucous cry.
He stooped and shook Lige.
“Wake up,” he whispered in his ear, “there’s something after the horses!”
Lige woke with a start, and grabbed his rifle as he sprang to his feet.
“Where?” he whispered. At the same moment the howling was repeated, and the horses back of the wagons began to rear and snort with fear. Suddenly the cow sent forth a terrified bellow.
With musket over his shoulder Joe dashed between the wagons, followed by Lige.
The moon was at its full, and the flat surface of the prairies was dimly visible all about them. Outlined against the horizon they saw a number of gaunt, shadowy forms flitting silently. At no great distance from them a creature, larger than a big dog, sat up on its haunches and with head raised to the moon uttered a long, wailing howl.
From far away across the prairie it was answered, and while they stood listening the night grew hideous by the calling and answering of the deep-chested howl of grey wolves.
“Wolves—grey wolves!” whispered Joe, “they are after the horses!”
Presently as they stood with suspended breath dim grey shapes came gliding across the prairies toward them.
Almost as he spoke they heard the cow give a terrified bellow, and heard her tugging wildly at her rope.
“The cow, the cow!” shouted Lige, and together the boys leaped forward.
They saw the poor animal crouched and cringing with terror, and as they sprang forward, gun at shoulder, they saw a huge, gaunt grey figure leap at her throat.
Scarcely waiting to aim, Joe shot. The reverberation had scarcely ceased when his father was at his side.
“What is it?” he cried.
“Wolves—wolves! They are after the horses—they almost got the cow!” shouted Lige, and fired again into the shadows, where he could make out the slinking grey figures.
Joe too was loading and firing. The horses, half mad with terror, were rearing and snorting, and the cow plunged in wide circles, blowing and bellowing with fear.
Mr. Peniman, musket in hand, ran to them, but the wolves had been frightened away. He found two great, gaunt, grey marauders dead, but the others, frightened by the shots, had disappeared as swiftly and silently as shadows.
The boys were greatly disappointed to find that they had not killed more of the midnight thieves. “There were such a lot of them,” cried Joe; “what became of the rest? I thought I would kill half a dozen at least.”
“Wolves are great cowards. When they heard the shots they probably made off with all speed. I think you did exceedingly well to get two in this uncertain light. Too bad we can’t skin these fellows and keep the pelts as souvenirs of your first wolves. But you will no doubt have the chance to get plenty more, so we will let these fellows go. We’ll have to watch for them after this. It would have been a bad lookout for us if they had got the horses or the cow.”
This incident served to show the pioneers that other dangers than those of Indian raids menaced their night camp on the plains, and served to make them more watchful than ever.