Chapter XVI In the Hands of the Enemy
The house and barn were completed none too soon. On the afternoon of the day on which the door of the barn was hung the clouds hung heavy and ominous in the northeast. About four o’clock it began to thunder.
“Just in time, my lads,” cried Mr. Peniman with a glance at the angry blackness of the sky. “We’re going to have a big storm. Thank heaven that both we and our cattle will have good shelter. Get up the horses, Joe. Lige, you fill up the racks with grain and hay. Sam, you’d better bring in the cow. If it should be, as I fear, a very bad storm we shall all feel happier to know that our faithful beasts are under shelter.”
It was nearly five o’clock, and the cow and horses were comfortably settled in their new quarters, when the storm broke. It was the first experience of the pioneers in a severe electrical storm on the prairies, and glad indeed were they of the thick walls and substantial roof above their heads as the lightning flashed and forked over the prairies, the thunder crashed, and the wind howled and raged while the rain came down in torrents.
“Oo-ooh! if we were out in the wagons now!” cried Ruth, flattening her nose against the window pane and peering out at the driving storm.
“Yes, or even in a frame house,” said Joe. “No frame house could last long in a wind like this. Whee-ee, isn’t it a gale! I’m glad we’re in a soddy.”
“It is comfortable and cozy, isn’t it?” sighed Mrs. Peniman, glancing about her with a little smile of content.
For three days the wind howled and the rain fell, while the gentle murmur of the river increased to a sullen roar and it rushed foaming and tumultuous over its rocky bed. On the night of the third day it overflowed its banks, and Mr. Peniman and the boys had to spend most of the night guarding their wagons, implements and other property that they might not be carried away by the flood. The rain had changed to hail on this night, and Joe and Lige wore inverted skillets on their heads to protect them from the pelting of the hailstones. On the fourth day the wind died down, the rain ceased, and the sun came out in an intensely blue sky, which looked as brilliantly clean and clear as if newly created.
With the first gleam of sunshine the pioneers left the shelter of the house and took up the work waiting them outside.
They found that the stock had weathered the storm in the greatest comfort. Dicky and Mother Feathertop, who had found shelter under the canvas covers of the prairie schooners, were sadly bedraggled, and Romeo and Juliet, though exceedingly muddy, and in a very wet pen, were squealingly protesting their desire for food.
“Their pen is all wet, Father,” cried Ruth in a grieved tone; “they’ll take their deaths of cold.”
Lige and Sam burst into roars of laughter.
“Pigs don’t take cold, you goosie!” chuckled Sam.
“They do, too, don’t they, Mother?”
“I never heard of pigs taking cold,” said Mrs. Peniman, “but they certainly do look most uncomfortably wet. Couldn’t we take them out and put them in another pen until their house dries?”’
“I think we might. I believe the pen we made for them when we first came is around here somewhere.”
“I know where it is,” cried Joe, and ran to get it.
When the pen of saplings was placed in a comparatively dry place Joe, Lige and Sam, in high rubber boots, descended into the pit to capture the young porkers. The mud was deep and slippery, the pigs well coated with the clay, and the boys chased them round and round the pen, sometimes catching hold of one by the ear or tail, sometimes grabbing them about the body, sometimes managing to get hold of a leg, when with a flirt and a squeal they would wiggle away, too slippery to hold on to, while the would-be captor would sprawl face down in the mud.
“Talk about your greased-pig races,” panted Sam, who had just lost his grip on Juliet for the fourth time, “I never saw one that was a patchin’ to this!”
Joe caught Romeo by his tail, which was too short and curly to make a good handle, and after a violent struggle, during which Joe slipped and slid all over the pen, Romeo made his get-away with a shrill squeal of vengeance, while Joe sprawled on his stomach in the mud.
The girls, with Paul and their mother were watching the chase from above with shouts and shrieks of laughter. When Lige made a wild dive for Juliet, who slipped through his hands and dived between his legs, sending him head-over-heels, Ruth doubled herself up with shrieks of mirth, in which Nina joined. Nothing could have injured the feelings of handsome Lige more.
“Well, stay in your slimy old pen then,” he growled, and began to climb out. Mr. Peniman, shaking with laughter, stopped him. He too had been watching the sport.
“Here’s a rope,” he called out; “you’ll never get them that way, they’re too slippery. Rope them and pass them up to me.”
This was a new angle to the game, and one that suited the boys better. Sam grabbed the rope and made a lasso at one end. With a wild cowboy yell he made for the astonished young porkers. His first try failed, when Lige grabbed the rope, and after an unsuccessful cast or two succeeded in getting the festive Romeo firmly about his fat middle. Romeo protested with shrill squeals, but he was captured, and was soon hoisted up and dropped inside the other pen. Juliet, being a bit more spry, and perhaps, being a lady, a trifle more wary, was harder to catch. Each of the boys tried his hand, and it was Joe who at last made the lucky throw, and got her fast by the leg, after which it was an easy matter to get hold of her and hoist her up to their father.
By this time it would have been hard to say which were the muddier and dirtier, the boys or the pigs, but a swim in the river soon removed the mud, and the rubber boots and suits they had worn were washed at the same time, so that they were soon fresh and clean.
The next day was bright and clear, and soon after their early breakfast Mr. Peniman, Joe, Lige, and Sam set off for the far side of their claim to cut the prairie grass for hay.
Mr. Peniman had staked out his own claim of 160 acres, laying out at the same time a 160 acre tract for Joe on one side of it and Lige on the other, to be pre-empted as soon as the boys should be old enough.
They took all three teams, and while Mr. Peniman and Joe began cutting the long, rich prairie grass Lige and Sam guided the plows, turning over the sod for their fall planting.
As this side of the claim was quite a distance from the house they had taken their lunch with them, and had just finished eating, and Joe was tipping up the jug to take a swig of water, when he stopped short, the jug at his shoulder, staring with fixed gaze across the plains.
“Indians!” he shouted, “Indians!” and dashing down the jug leaped for the horses.
Joshua Peniman at the same moment had seen the horsemen dashing across the open plateau to the south of them.
With a leap he sprang to the other team and began loosing them from the plow.
Joe and Lige had by this time got Kit and Billy free and throwing themselves across their backs had started for home in a mad gallop.
In the minds of all was the same terrible thought. Mrs. Peniman and the children were there unprotected and alone.
Joshua Peniman, not so young or active as his sons, did not dare to ride bareback. With frantic haste he hitched his team to the wagon, and shouting to Sam to jump in, and lead the black team, leaped in and lashed the horses into a run.
None of them had any weapons. They had seen no Indians since coming to the Blue River country, and their fear of them had gradually subsided as their minds became filled with other things. Now as Joshua Peniman drove madly across the prairies he cursed his short-sightedness and stupidity.
Nearer and nearer the squat black house on the banks of the river came the naked, yelping savages.
“My God—will Hannah see them in time—will she get herself and the children into the house before they reach her!” The agonized thought hammered itself over and over in his brain.
As Joe and Lige dashed on, silent before the stark horror of the moment, they could see the children playing down by the river. It was evident that they knew nothing of their danger. Then as the boys dashed on, lashing their horses cruelly, they saw their mother come to the door.
For a moment she stood, and they could feel in their own hearts that terror that came over her. Then they saw her make a dash for the river. Even above the thudding of the horses’ hoofs they could hear her wild, agonized calls. The Indians heard it, too, and answered with derisive whoops and yells.
With dry lips and a frantic unuttered prayer Joe ground his heels into Kit’s sides.
Would they get there in time?
Joshua Peniman, standing up in the wagon and leaning far over the dashboard, lashed his horses and groaned aloud.
There seemed to be some forty or fifty of the savages, and as they wheeled and the sun shone full on their naked bodies Lige gave a loud cry.
“Sioux!” he shouted, in tones of horror, and lying forward over Billy’s neck urged him forward with voice and whip. Joe had seen, and from his white lips came a hoarse cry.
Up to this moment he had hoped—even though faintly—that the band they saw might be a hunting party of Pawnees or Arapahoes, who seldom harmed white people unless first molested. But Sioux——!
He leaned forward over his panting horse and spoke in her ear.
“Oh, Kit,” he half sobbed, “get me there—for God’s sake get me there in time to save them!”
As if she understood the little mare laid back her ears and sprang forward like an arrow from a bow.
The Indians had reached the sod house by this time. Yelping and howling they were circling about and about it on their ponies.
As the eyes of the horror-stricken boys and man strained toward them a sharp “spat” spoke from one of the soddy windows, and a naked savage reeled and fell from his horse.
“Mother—brave, brave little Mother!” Joe sobbed in a choked, husky whisper. Then as he saw the band spring from their horses and make a dash for the soddy he leaped down from Kit’s back, and followed by Lige dashed through the undergrowth along the bank of the river toward the house.
Before they could reach it they heard a wild shriek, and saw their mother dash from the house with David in her arms, dragging little Mary by the hand, and followed by Ruth, Sara, and Paul, and make for the dugout.
Joe’s heart thrilled with pride as he saw tender Ruth, who loved all creatures, evidently covering her mother’s retreat, backing toward the dugout, her face toward the Indians, a smoking revolver in her hand.
They heard its sharp angry bark, and saw another Indian fall. Then they saw that Mrs. Peniman had reached the dugout, and pushing the children in before her grabbed for the heavy door. As she did so an Indian in a war-dress of skin and feathers, with a great feathered war-bonnet on his head, made a grab for her, but Ruth was too quick for him. Quick as a flash she took deliberate aim and fired. Joe, who was almost behind her by this time, heard the grunt of the Indian as he fell face downward beside the door.
“Inside—inside the dugout!” he shouted, and grasping Ruth by the shoulders pushed her toward the door.
Ruth turned her white face and gave a quick, terrified look all about her.
“Nina,” she shrieked, “where’s Nina?”
With a stab like the thrust of a knife in his heart Joe heard the cry.
“Nina?” he shouted, “where is she?”
A wild, anguished cry was his answer, and whirling about he saw an Indian dashing past with Nina thrown across his pony in front of him.
Quick as thought he caught the revolver from Ruth’s hand and fired. He had feared to aim at the Indian lest he should strike the child, but had taken aim at the horse, and saw it fall and roll over.
Joshua Peniman, with Sam, had now reached the scene, and brandishing a great club that he had caught up as he ran made for the Indians that were circling about the dugout, uttering their fiendish yelps and howls.
Mrs. Peniman and the children were inside now, the door firmly closed, and all the efforts of the savages seemed unavailing to move it.
As the horse fell the Indian at whom Joe had shot leaped with his burden in his arms, and fell free of the struggling animal. In an instant he was on his feet and started to run.
Joe was now past sixteen, tall, muscular, with every nerve and sinew in his body like thews of steel from his long life in the open and continual work and manual exercise, and he rushed after and sprang upon him like a young panther. The Indian staggered, and threw the girl he carried from his arms. Then with a snarl like a wild creature he turned and faced him. Joe had no time to train his revolver upon him. With a spring like a tiger the savage was upon him, but Joe, writhing himself free from the deadly clasp of his arms, grabbed his revolver by the barrel and with the butt dealt him a smashing blow on the head.
The Indian tottered, swayed and threw his hand to his head. As he did so Joe’s horrified gaze saw under the edge of the war-bonnet a white neck and a tuft of red hair.
The boy leaped forward and tried to raise the screaming little girl from the grass. But as he stooped over her the other leaped upon him and dealt him a terrific blow on the temple. With a groan Joe fell forward and lay still.
As he collapsed upon the ground the Indian who had red hair caught up the girl, leaped upon the back of a riderless pony that was galloping by, and dashed away. As he rode he called out a sharp command in the Indian tongue. With a few wild whoops and yells the Indians who were scattered about the place whirled about and followed him.
As the Indians that had surrounded the dugout dashed away Joshua Peniman turned, and seeing Joe lie motionless upon the ground rushed to him.
“Joe, Joe,” he cried in agony, lifting the boy’s head.
Joe gasped and opened his eyes.
“Father,” he panted, starting up wildly, “Princess—they got her—where is she——”
His father pushed him gently back upon the ground.
“Are you wounded, Joe?” he asked in anguish; “did they get you?”
“No, no,” the boy sprang to a sitting position. “I’m not hurt—only stunned—but Princess—Nina—did they take her? Did they get away with her?”
Joshua Peniman averted his eyes and his voice was hoarse and shaken. “Yes,” he answered reluctantly, “they got her. You did the best you could to save her, and I was just too late.”
The boy staggered to his feet.
“I must go after her—I must find her,” he cried, then reeled dizzily.
His father half led, half carried him into the house.
“You are hurt—you are not able to go,” he said, pushing him into a chair. “And besides, you could never catch them now, Joe. They have half an hour the start of you, and they have swift ponies——”
Joe sprang to his feet. “I must go, Father—I must! I must find her—I must bring her back—Princess, Princess!” and collapsing into the chair he fell over insensible.
His father, who was a good deal of a doctor and nurse, bathed his wounded head and gave him a simple stimulant. Presently he opened his eyes. He sat up, gazed wildly about, then sprang up with a white, determined face.
“I’m going to find Princess, Father,” he said in a tone that was not to be disputed. “I must—we can’t leave her in the hands of that—that scoundrel. I’m all right now, I can ride Kit——”
“But Kit is not a riding-horse, Joe; you could never overtake them. By this time those Indians are miles away.”
“Father”—Joe leaned forward and spoke low in his father’s ear—“the man that carried Nina off was not an Indian! When I struck him I knocked his bonnet to one side, his neck was white—and he had red hair!”
Joshua Peniman started violently.
“Red Snake!” he muttered.
For a moment he stood lost in thought, then said rapidly: “This is worse than I feared. We must go after her. We must get her out of his hands. I don’t see how I can go——”
“You can’t, Father! You can’t be spared. Mother and the children need you here. But I can go—I’m all right now—I must go—I must find her!”
Joshua Peniman had been thinking swiftly.
“The best thing we can do,” he broke in, “is to get to the Missions and Agencies and get word to the Government about this degenerate white man who lives with the Indians and is inciting them to raids and assaults for his own ends. Of course it’s a terrible risk, it is taking your life in your hands, but the only hope that I can see of rescuing her is for some one to go to Bellevue and get Government aid. If I dared to leave the family——”
“This has proved that you dare not, Father. You must stay here. It is my place to go.”
“But, Joe boy, do you realize the danger? Do you remember how far it is—how desolate and barren—what a lone, wearisome, lonesome trail?”
The boy looked at him bravely. “I remember,” he said. “But it can’t be helped. It’s got to be done—and I’m going to do it. I must take food and water. Get it for me, won’t you, Father, while I go get Kit?”
He rushed from the house, and found both teams standing by the barn, the third tied, as Sam had left it, to the back of the wagon.
He rapped on the door of the dugout and called loudly, telling the quaking family inside that the Indians were gone and the danger over.
When the door was opened and his mother peeped out he hastened to reassure her.
“But they’ve carried Nina away and I am going after her,” he cried, dashing into the barn, seizing a blanket, and throwing it over Kit’s back.
“The Indians—they have carried off Princess?” shrieked Ruth.
He did not stop to answer them; throwing himself across Kit’s back and snatching the revolver, the ammunition and the bag of food and water that his father handed up to him, he waved his hand to the family, and before they could utter a protest he was gone, riding at a mad gallop across the plains.