THIS trip of Will's covered only two months, and was succeeded
by another expedition, to the new post at Fort
Wallace, at Cheyenne Pass.
Meanwhile mother had decided to improve the opportunity
afforded by her geographical position, and under
her supervision "The Valley Grove House'' was going
up.
The hotel commanded a magnificent prospect. Below
lay the beautiful Salt Creek Valley. It derived its name
from the saline properties of the little stream that rushed
along its pebbly bed to empty its clear waters into the
muddy Missouri. From the vantage-ground of our location
Salt Creek looked like a silver thread, winding its way
through the rich verdure of the valley. The region was
dotted with fertile farms; from east to west ran the government
road, known as the Old Salt Lake Trail, and back
of us was Cody Hill, named for my father. Our house
stood on the side hill, just above the military road, and
between us and the hilltop lay the grove that gave the
hotel its name. Government hill, which broke the eastern
sky-line, hid Leavenworth and the Missouri River, culminating
to the south in Pilot Knob, the eminence on
which my father was buried, also beyond our view.
Mother's business sagacity was justified in the hotel
venture. The trail began its half-mile ascent of Cody Hill
just below our house, and at this point the expedient
known as "doubling'' was employed. Two teams hauled
a wagon up the steep incline, the double team returning
for the wagon left behind. Thus the progress of a wagon
train, always slow, became a very snail's pace, and the
hotel was insured a full quota of hungry trainmen.
Will found that his wages were of considerable aid to
mother in the large expense incurred by the building of
the hotel; and the winter drawing on, forbidding further
freighting trips, he planned an expedition with a party of
trappers. More money was to be made at this business
during the winter than at any other time.
The trip was successful, and contained only one adventure
spiced with danger, which, as was so often the case,
Will twisted to his own advantage by coolness and presence
of mind.
One morning, as he was making the round of his traps,
three Indians appeared on the trail, each leading a pony
laden with pelts. One had a gun; the others carried bows
and arrows. The odds were three to one, and the brave
with the gun was the most to be feared.
This Indian dropped his bridle-rein and threw up his
rifle; but before it was at his shoulder Will had fired, and he
fell forward on his face. His companions bent their bows,
one arrow passing through Will's hat and another piercing
his arm--the first wound he ever received. Will swung
his cap about his head.
"This way! Here they are!'' he shouted to an imaginary
party of friends at his back. Then with his revolver
he wounded another of the Indians, who, believing
reinforcements were at hand, left their ponies and fled.
Will took the ponies on the double-quick back to camp,
and the trappers decided to pull up stakes at once. It had
been a profitable season, and the few more pelts to be had
were not worth the risk of an attack by avenging Indians;
so they packed their outfit, and proceeded to Fort Laramie.
Will realized a handsome sum from the sale of his captured
furs, besides those of the animals he had himself
trapped.
At the fort were two men bound east, and impatient
to set out, and Will, in his haste to reach home, joined
forces with them. Rather than wait for an uncertain
wagon train, they decided to chance the dangers of the
road. They bought three ponies and a pack-mule for the
camp outfit, and sallied forth in high spirits.
Although the youngest of the party, Will was the most
experienced plainsman, and was constantly on the alert.
They reached the Little Blue River without sign of Indians,
but across the stream Will espied a band of them. The
redskins were as keen of eye, and straightway exchanged
the pleasures of the chase for the more exciting pursuit of
human game. But they had the river to cross; and this
gave the white men a good start. The pursuit was hot,
and grew hotter, but the kindly darkness fell, and under
cover of it the trio got safely away. That night they
camped in a little ravine that afforded shelter from both
Indians and weather.
A look over the ravine disclosed a cave that promised a
snug harbor, and therein Will and one of his companions
spread their blankets and fell asleep. The third man,
whose duty it was to prepare the supper, kindled a fire just
inside the cave, and returned outside for a supply of fuel.
When he again entered the cave the whole interior was
revealed by the bright firelight, and after one look he gave
a yell of terror, dropped his firewood, and fled.
Will and the other chap were on their knees instantly,
groping for their rifles, in the belief that the Indians were
upon them; but the sight that met their eyes was more
terror-breeding than a thousand Indians. A dozen bleached
and ghastly skeletons were gathered with them around the
camp-fire, and seemed to nod and sway, and thrust their
long-chilled bones toward the cheery blaze.
Ghastly as it was within the cave, Will found it more
unpleasant in the open. The night was cold, and a storm
threatened.
"Well,'' said he to his companions, "we know the
worst that's in there now. Those old dead bones won't
hurt us. Let's go back.''
"Not if I know myself, sonny,'' returned one of the
men decidedly, and the other heartily agreed with him,
swearing that as it was, he should not be able to close his
eyes for a week. So, after a hurried lunch upon the cold
provisions, the party mounted their ponies and pushed on.
The promised snowstorm materialized, and shortly became
a young blizzard, and obliged to dismount and camp in the
open prairie, they made a miserable night of it.
But it had an end, as all things have, and with the
morning they resumed the trail, reaching Marysville, on
the Big Blue, after many trials and privations.
From here the trail was easier, as the country was
pretty well settled, and Will reached home without further
adventure or misadventure. Here there was compensation
for hardship in the joy of handing over to mother all his
money, realizing that it would lighten her burdens--burdens
borne that she might leave her children provided for when
she could no longer repel the dread messenger, that in
all those years seemed to hover so near that even our
childish hearts felt its presence ere it actually crossed the
threshold.
It was early in March when Will returned from his
trapping expedition. Mother's business was flourishing,
though she herself grew frailer with the passing of each
day. The summer that came on was a sad one for us all,
for it marked Turk's last days on earth. One evening he
was lying in the yard, when a strange dog came up the
road, bounded in, gave Turk a vicious bite, and went on.
We dressed the wound, and thought little of it, until
some horsemen rode up, with the inquiry, "Have you seen
a dog pass here?''
We answered indignantly that a strange dog had passed,
and had bitten our dog.
"Better look out for him, then,'' warned the men as
they rode away. "The dog is mad.''
Consternation seized us. It was dreadful to think of
Turk going mad--he who had been our playmate from
infancy, and who, through childhood's years, had grown
more dear to us than many human beings could; but
mother knew the matter was serious, and issued her commands.
Turk must be shut up, and we must not even
visit him for a certain space. And so we shut him up,
hoping for the best; but it speedily became plain that the
poison was working in his veins, and that the greatest kindness
we could do him was to kill him.
That was a frightful alternative. Will utterly refused
to shoot him, and the execution was delegated to the hired
man, Will stipulating that none of his weapons should be
used, and that he be allowed to get out of ear-shot.
Late that afternoon, just before sunset, we assembled
in melancholy silence for the funeral. A grave had been
dug on the highest point of the eastern extremity of Cody
Hill, and decorated in black ribbons, we slowly filed up
the steep path, carrying Turk's body on a pine board softened
with moss. Will led the procession with his hat in
his hand, and every now and then his fist went savagely at
his eyes. When we reached the grave, we formed around
it in a tearful circle, and Will, who always called me "the
little preacher,'' told me to say the Lord's Prayer. The
sun was setting, and the brilliant western clouds were shining
round about us. There was a sighing in the treetops
far below us, and the sounds in the valley were muffled and
indistinct.
"Our Father which art in heaven,'' I whispered softly,
as all the children bent their heads, "Hallowed be Thy
name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth as
it is in heaven.'' I paused, and the other children said the
rest in chorus. The next day Will procured a large block
of red bloodstone, which abounds in that country, squared
it off, carved the name of Turk upon it in large letters,
and we placed it at the head of the grave.
To us there had been no incongruity in the funeral
ceremonials and burial. Turk had given us all that dog
could give; we, for our part, gave him Christian sepulture.
Our sorrow was sincere. We had lost an honest, loyal
friend. For many succeeding days his grave was garlanded
with fresh flowers, placed there by loving hands. Vale
Turk! Would that our friends of the higher evolution
were all as stanch as thou!
