Chapter XXIV Ruth Makes a Discovery
The winter passed swiftly. With the school to take up their time and attention in the daytime and games and talk and popping corn and telling stories in the evening the time crept by, and almost before they knew it it was spring.
March brought sunny days, thawing weather and big rains, with blue skies and balmy winds that soon melted the snow and sent it scurrying in foaming torrents down the beds of all the creeks and streams.
Very soon after the snows began to go a wonderful thing happened.
They woke one morning to see a train of emigrant wagons coming across the plains, and that day a new settler came to the Blue River, bringing with him a wife, two sons and a daughter.
They came directly to the Penimans’ homestead for advice and directions, and the original settlers on the river were delighted beyond measure to find them refined and intelligent people, who, like themselves, had desired to better their condition and had dared the dangers of the frontier life to provide themselves with wider opportunities and a better home.
The name of the family was James, and they came from Iowa. The two sons, Herbert and Arthur, were seventeen and fifteen, while the daughter, Beatrice, was nearly the same age as Ruth, a pretty, fair-haired, slender girl, with soft brown eyes that looked like the heart of a pansy.
They remained with the Peniman family that day, and the two families fraternized immediately. It was a great joy to those who had been living in such lonely conditions to meet and talk with people from the outside world. Mrs. James and Mrs. Peniman exchanged confidences in regard to heating and housing and obtaining fuel and provisions, the men talked farm-land and crops and sod houses and dugouts, while the young people explored the river and became friends from the very beginning.
Few papers or news of any kind had reached the homestead during the winter, and Joshua Peniman heard with a sinking heart of the slavery agitation that seemed to be continually increasing and growing daily a greater menace to the security of the nation. Joe, too, was listening to the news from the outside world with great interest. Herbert James, a tall, fine-looking, manly young fellow of seventeen, who had been attending school in the East, was full of the threatening conditions of the country. He talked of the issue with keen, intelligent interest, and Joe listened with a strange thrill passing through his breast. The two boys soon became fast friends, while Lige and Arthur, who was past fifteen, also struck up a great friendship. Ruth, usually shy and quiet with strangers, expanded sunnily in the company of Beatrice, and she and Nina soon became fast friends with her, a friendship that endured to the very end of their lives.
Nothing else could have brought the satisfaction and joy to the Peniman family as did the coming of this pleasant, intelligent family. It brought to them companionship, added protection from the dangers that always surround the pioneer, and the added incentive of a new element in the making of their home on the prairies. The whole Peniman family went with them to select their location, which they had all decided should be very near, planned with them the site of their house, helped them in building it, assisted them in every way through those first hard months that are the lot of the pioneer in a new country, and gave them the benefit of their valuable experience. The James family settled on a tract of land about half a mile to the west of them, and it was a relief to each family to know that the other was within call.
The Jameses had brought with them a pony that Beatrice had always ridden and was exceedingly fond of, and one of the joys of the girls’ early acquaintance was in taking turns riding on the back of gentle Flora.
Ruth took to riding as a duck to water. In a few days she could ride as well as her instructor, and was never so happy as when cantering over the prairies on Flora’s back.
One day toward the first of April, when the sun was shining brightly and a pleasant breeze blowing, she asked her mother if she might not take a little ride.
Mrs. James remarked that it would be perfectly safe, as Flora was most gentle and reliable, and Mrs. Peniman gave her consent, cautioning her not to go too far away.
Ruth had always been a passionate lover of animals, and the feel of the horse under her, the curve of the soft neck under her hand, the swift, smooth pace, exhilarated her as nothing had ever done before.
The snow was going fast, only in places now were there remains of the great drifts that had covered the plains throughout the winter. As she cantered on she looked at them, wishing that they were all gone and that the beautiful wild-flowers which adorn the prairies in the spring would soon come to gladden their hearts and eyes.
Suddenly as she rode Flora started and swerved, and it was well for Ruth that she had a tight hold on the saddle or she would have gone off over her head.
“Why, Flora,” she cried in surprise, “what’s the matter?” then started violently herself, as she looked down and saw, partially concealed by the remains of a great drift, the legs and feet of a man.
She checked the pony abruptly and sat still, not knowing what to do. Then, being a brave girl and a true little pioneer, she scrambled down from the pony’s back, slipped the bridle over her arm, and going to the body kneeled down and scraped away the snow that covered it.
It was still in good condition, the bitter cold of the winter and the snow packed about it having preserved it perfectly. As Ruth pushed aside the snow that concealed the face she screamed aloud.
“Eagle Eye! Oh, poor, poor Eagle Eye!” and being a real little woman she sat down beside the body and began to cry.
For a long time she kneeled beside the body of the young Indian whom she had so tenderly nursed back to health. The face looked just as she had seen it often, keen, thin, silent, the eyes closed, the grave lips motionless, the bronze-hued features set in the dignified mold of death.
“Eagle Eye, Eagle Eye,” she called to him softly, placing her hands on his and bending nearer. “Oh, poor Eagle Eye, where have you been; how, how, did this terrible thing happen to you?”
The cold, immovable face remained impassive, the grave set lips made no reply.
She rose presently, and stood for a time looking down upon him. She knew that the body must not be left lying exposed on the prairie; that wolves, vultures, coyotes, the hideous carrion-crows would soon find it.
“I’ll come back, Eagle Eye,” she said as she left him, “even if you were not grateful to us for what we did for you, we will see that you have a proper burial.” She mounted the pony and had started to ride away when a little distance farther on she saw a black object in the snow. Curious as to what it might be she rode to it. As she slipped from the pony’s back and stooped over it she saw that it was a black tin box, which had once had a lock, which had been broken and torn away.
She examined it curiously, then tucking it under her arm rode home as fast as Flora could carry her.
“Mother, oh, Mother,” she shouted as she burst into the house, “I found Eagle Eye—our Eagle Eye—lying out there on the prairie—dead—under a snowdrift!”
“Eagle Eye? You mean our Eagle Eye? The young Indian we took care of after he was shot?” cried Mrs. Peniman, running to her.
“Yes, yes,” the tears were running down Ruth’s cheeks now; “oh, yes, Mother, our own Eagle Eye; and oh, Mother, he was lying right under a drift, and I saw his feet, and when I uncovered his face I saw that it was Eagle Eye. He must have got lost in the blizzard——”
“What’s this? Who was lost in the blizzard?” asked Mr. Peniman, who had entered the house in time to hear the last words.
Mrs. Peniman explained to him.
“Eagle Eye?” he ejaculated; “he must have been trying to come to us! He must have got lost in the storm! Perhaps he had some message to bring to us—perhaps he was not so ungrateful, so careless as he seemed——”
He stopped short, his eyes fixed with a strange stare upon the box that Ruth had entirely forgotten, and which she still clutched under her arm.
“Ruth!” he shouted, “where did you get that box? Where did it come from? How in the name of heaven——”
Ruth, startled half out of her wits at his face and voice, held out the box she had found on the prairies.
“I found it, Father—out there on the prairies—just a little way from where Eagle Eye was lying. Why, Father, what is the matter? What makes you look so—so——”
Her words died away as her father leaped forward and snatched the box from her hands. She saw him stoop and examine it, saw him stare into her mother’s face, and saw her mother turn pale, as she murmured in a shaking voice, “The dispatch-box—the dispatch-box!”
Ruth had heard of the dispatch-box, although she had no remembrance of having ever seen it.
“The dispatch-box? Nina’s dispatch-box—that we lost—that was stolen from us by the Indians?”
But neither Father nor Mother heard her. Tears had sprung to Mrs. Peniman’s eyes and were rolling down her cheeks, as she murmured over and over, “Poor Eagle Eye, poor loyal, grateful friend, how unjust, how unjust we have been to you!”
Joshua Peniman was examining the box. The lock was gone, but the box had been roughly wrapped about and tied with a piece of deer-hide, and appeared to have remained undisturbed while it lay on the prairies.
“He was bringing it to us,” he said in a low voice. “You remember, Hannah, that I told him the whole story. I did not know then how much he understood. But he must have understood it all. He went back to his own people and got the papers, and was bringing them to us when the blizzard overtook him. Poor Eagle Eye, poor loyal friend, he gave his life in our service.” After a moment’s thought he went on: “I wonder how he got it? I wonder what became of Red Snake? If he knows that this box has been taken from him he will never rest until he has his revenge and gets it back again.”
“God protect us,” whispered Mrs. Peniman, turning pale.
Joshua Peniman handed her the box quickly. “Put it away carefully,” he said. “We will examine it more carefully when I come back. Just now our first duty is to Eagle Eye. Call the boys, Ruth. We must go after the body at once. I could not sleep this night knowing that the body of our faithful friend was lying uncovered on the plains.”
When they reached the spot where the body was lying Joe uttered a surprised exclamation.
“Why, that’s the Indian Lige and I found the night you were lost in the blizzard! I remember him perfectly. But I had never seen him before. You know I was away all the time Eagle Eye was at our house. Lige never looked at him at all, we were both so cold, and so scared and anxious about you. How do you suppose he came to be here?”
“He was coming to us, Joe,” Mr. Peniman answered solemnly. “He was bringing to us a thing that we—all of us—would have been willing to pay any price to receive. And he gave his life in our service.”
Joe stared. “What, Father? What was he bringing?”
“He was bringing Nina’s dispatch-box. The box that was stolen from the wagon the night of the Indian raid.”
Joe started, and a strange startled expression passed over his face.
“Where was it?” he asked.
“On the prairie, very near his body. Ruth found it there.”
“Great heavens! I kicked it with my foot the night of the blizzard! I thought it was a tin can. Nina’s dispatch-box! And it has lain all these months on the prairies!”
“God is good,” murmured Mr. Peniman. But Joe answered nothing, but stared at his father with distended eyes.