Chapter VI

THE WEDDING OF BEN AND LINDA; A SECOND OVERLAND TRIP; MASSACRE OF NEARLY ALL THE COMPANY; BINDING UP THE WOUNDS; THE TRIP RESUMED; SURVIVORS REACH THE OREGON COUNTRY.

Ben's hair had grown long, his beard had been cropped only with shears, and his face was tanned by the fierce rays of a tropical sun. His clothing was begrimed and worn almost threadbare; in appearance he was very different from the Ben Hardy who had spent the Sunday evening with Linda Shaeffer just before starting for Oregon with the Mulhall outfit. It would take considerable preparation to call upon Linda in presentable clothing; and though very anxious to see her, Ben shrank from the impulse to do so at once. But his mother said, "Go as you are; Linda will be rejoiced to see you."

Ben Hardy had traversed, in the opposite direction, the route that Isaac Pelton took; and for the same object--to secure the girl of his choice for a life companion. The departure from his Oregon cabin had been so sudden that there was no time to write of the trip; even if he had done so, the letter would have gone forward by the same steamer on which he sailed. Although his trials had been less {161} severe than Pelton's and the delays not as great, the journey was one of continuous anxiety and fatigue.

His arrival at the old home in Missouri was unexpected and a great surprise to all his friends there, naturally most of all to Linda. Ben's last letter, received only two weeks before, described his progress in establishing a home for them; but gave no intimation as to when he would come after her, or how she could go to him. So when Linda caught sight of Ben passing through the gate in front of her father's residence, she could not at first believe that she saw aright, but kept gazing in bewildered wonder and trepidation as he approached the house.

The change in Ben's appearance had been so great that an acquaintance could easily have been mistaken in his identity; but Linda, whose quick eye recognized his familiar movement, rushed from the house and met him on the walk, half-way between the gate and the veranda steps. Most readers have known the thrill of such a surprise, though probably few of the intensity of this one; nevertheless, out of their own experience, they will understand and appreciate Linda's joy. The cordial greetings that followed from all the household heartened Ben; no one seemed to notice his clothes--it was Ben, though greatly changed, they saw and welcomed.

There was one of the household who in her heart could not rejoice--not that mother Shaeffer thought Ben unworthy of Linda; but the realization that the daughter she loved so intensely would be taken from {162} her, possibly meet a tragic fate at the hands of the Indians, and certainly encounter the other hazards of a trip to Oregon, overwhelmed her. Conscious that she might be unable to compose herself and control her emotions, the good lady withdrew as quietly as possible to her own chamber, where she gave way to grief that could no longer be restrained.

Mothers who have had similar experiences of impending separation from beloved and loving daughters will sympathize with Mrs. Shaeffer; such is life and the story of each generation! We know that joy in a steady, overflowing stream often follows grief, which becomes less poignant with the lapse of time.

As she left the room, Ben caught the expression of distress in Mrs. Shaeffer's countenance. Could it be possible that Linda's mother was opposed to their marriage? The very thought disturbed and perplexed Ben. He did not stay late, though long enough to disclose his plans for the trip, taking particular care to tell Linda of its difficulties and dangers. Linda firmly responded, "I am going with you, Ben;" and with the echo of it in his ears, he rode back to his mother's home with a light heart, for the moment forgetting the grave responsibility now resting upon his shoulders.

With only a small amount left from the current funds provided for the expenses of the trip, the first urgent business was to secure enough money to purchase an outfit and allow for the expenditures and {163} any emergencies on the way. Ben had learned by experience that the popular fallacy, shared by so many, that currency was not needed on the Trail, was unfounded; and knew to the contrary. The funds upon which he depended were in three banks of three different counties; and one of them had suspended payment upon large deposits.

A period of great financial depression had recently swept over the country. Crops were abundant, but the few existing markets were at considerable distances, and transportation facilities were entirely inadequate to move even the portions that could be sold. No railroads had yet been constructed in Missouri, and it was also before there were a sufficient number of steamers to serve the needs of the narrow margin of settlements bordering on the two principal rivers.

The whole region was without improved roads, but had a superabundance of products that could not be either consumed or sold at a profit. A wagon-load of corn would hardly bring enough to buy a pair of boots; a fat two-hundred pound hog could not be traded for a lady's dress, or five bushels of corn for a pound of tea or coffee.

Such were the conditions confronting Ben in providing funds for the purchase of an outfit, with the possibility of not being able to do so at all. Luckily, he had some certificates of small amounts which he turned over to father Shaeffer, and thus avoided direct dealing with the banks.

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The political turmoil which a few years later brought on the Civil War then scourged the country, and added to the distress of commercial depression; in fact, was considered by many the greater of the two evils. Advocates of slavery were becoming more and more aggressive, while the Free-Soil element grew more firm. The approaching conflict of arms led many to emigrate as the best way of escaping from the public and private agitation.

As soon as it became known that Benjamin Hardy had arrived direct from Oregon, and was intending to outfit an expedition to return over the Trail the following summer, he was besieged by numerous parties desiring to join with him, and by a much greater throng seeking information. They came two, five or even ten together, and finally a delegation of forty from an adjoining county to discuss the trip and country with him. Some offered to form a new company under his leadership for the land of mild climate and great opportunities.

Those importuning strangers became a great burden to Ben, and much of his time was taken in imparting information, or declining offers to join his prospective trip. To all he expressed the intention of going with only two wagons, or three at the most, and not more than eight of his friends; but gave a truthful report of the dangers and privations of the Trail, and a good description of the Oregon Country. Father Shaeffer's farm was better equipped for assembling an outfit than his mother's; besides the {165} "Shaeffer boys"--all stalwarts--were eager to help him train the teams, and another one for Linda's two brothers who had determined to return with Ben to Oregon. At first he had no other thought than to assemble the outfit and train the teams at his mother's home, for he desired to be with her as much as possible while preparing for the trip.

At the same time, Ben could but acknowledge to himself that he wanted to be near Linda; so arrangements were made for his mother to drive over every day to help Mrs. Shaeffer prepare for the wedding and make clothing for the young couple. A part of the cloth was to be woven on mother Shaeffer's loom by Mrs. Hardy.

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The wedding was a very quiet affair, with only the Shaeffer family, Ben's mother and family, and a very few friends to witness it. Linda was dressed in a frock of her own make; she had woven the cloth for the very occasion while Ben was more than two thousand miles away, but with an abiding faith that the time would come for her to wear it.

Ben was dressed in a suit Mrs. Hardy made out of "boughten store cloth," as she described the material; while not a "tailor fit," the mother was proud of it, and all agreed that she did very well. At that time the women not only made their own dresses but also the clothes of the men folks; so it was nothing out of the ordinary for mother Hardy to make Ben's wedding suit.

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The "boys" all wanted to invite the young folks of the neighborhood and "have a good time," but mother Shaeffer pleaded for a quiet wedding; and in deference to her wishes, all of them gave up the thought. To her the marriage was a solemn occasion, and she could scarcely restrain the tears while preparations were being made for it. Ben had come to know the real reason and deeply sympathized with her; he felt almost a twinge of conscience for taking the dutiful daughter from the companionship of a loving mother.

Mrs. Shaeffer had great respect for Ben, believed him worthy of her confidence and a suitable husband for her daughter; but she wanted Linda to herself. In calmer moments she realized the selfishness of such an attitude, and how it might affect Linda's later life to remain with her; but the premonition that something dreadful would happen on the trip could not be dispelled. Ben was not free from the thought that disaster might overtake them on the long journey--little dreaming of the source from which it would come, a peril not encountered in his former trip with Squire Mulhall.

April, the time set long in advance for their departure, was near at hand; the teams and outfits had already been purchased, the animals were thoroughly reliable and well trained, and everything was about ready for the start to the far West. Robert and Abraham Shaeffer had also provided themselves with a team and outfit, and were equally well prepared; {167} two independent outfits satisfactory to Ben with four stalwart and reliable men, were in readiness making ten trustworthy adults in the party. There were also three women and four children, with Andrew, Jennie and their little girl Margie--in all twenty persons, five ox-teams, one horse-team and a matched-mule team for Andrew.

But the banks had not yet responded to the extent of the full amount needed to defray the expense of outfitting, and enough to provide for necessary supplies and incidental expenses on the road. It seemed as if they might be held back at the last minute by the difficulties of securing the necessary funds.

When all the other arrangements had been completed, Ben and father Shaeffer rode over to the nearest bank; with a determined expression of countenance, fire in their eyes and resolute tongues, they soon convinced the cashier that the money should be furnished to Ben as a matter of right. Thereupon sufficient for all anticipated needs was handed to him, and that part of the problem solved.

Ben had secured a light wagon, with half-springs under the bed to shelter Linda night and day, and also himself when not called elsewhere during the day, or kept out on watch at night. He had planned to take a full share of the duties and responsibilities of the trip, no matter how arduous or fatiguing they might be.

Andrew, Jennie and Margie were ready when Ben and Linda arrived. Eli Sumner, the elderly {168} Quaker in whose care Pelton had left his former slaves, provided a span of matched tan-colored mules and a complete outfit for them. All three took an affectionate farewell of their benefactor, for Sumner had been kind to them--just as good as "massa," Andrew said; and could not restrain tears of gratitude with the last shake of the hand.

The ox-teams had been sent several days ahead to the Missouri River crossing, where Ben was to join them with Andrew, Jennie and Margie. A great surprise was in store for Ben upon arrival; all the teams of his party were awaiting him, but the great throng seen there on his first trip was conspicuously absent. Instead of five hundred or more wagons on the former occasion, there were now not more than fifty besides his own little party.

In striking contrast to the pressure of two years before at the ferry landing, where a long line of emigrants waited their turn to be carried over, now all were easily crossed about as they arrived. Stirring memories of his adventure on the previous trip came vividly to mind. The sand-bar where the wagon-box had grounded with Kate Mulhall in water waist deep, was there; likewise the little island in front of the ferry landing where the scow upset, though since partially worn away by the swirling current of the great river.

Grass was abundant near-by the camp site, instead of being cropped close as he had seen it the first time. Profiting by Mulhall's experience with the {169} horse team, Ben determined to provide grain to last his horses and mules a long way out on the Trail. First he planned to take another wagon and abandon it when unloaded, thus strengthening his teams with the extra oxen, but under the circumstances, he concluded it would be practicable for teams to make the return trip; so two wagons were secured and loaded with grain.

When fully prepared the crossing was safely made, and the great trip across the plains started on April 18, 185-, about three weeks earlier in the season than the previous one. The absence of Indians was at once noticed by Ben, who caught sight of a few in the distance the second day out; but they did not come anywhere near the train. At the crossing of the second river on the fifth day, some of their tepees were found on both sides of the Trail, and one directly across it at the usual landing place.

There were a dozen or more lodges with altogether probably fifty Indians, of which about twenty were men. Ben interpreted their obstruction of the Trail as a sign of hostile intent; and after selecting a suitable place for defense in case of attack, he at once gathered all of his people into camp. The wagons formed a corral, the guns of the party were carefully examined and an armed guard sent to the grazing ground with the teams. Every one was cautioned not to go near the tepees, but to await developments; and although Ben's camp was only about fifty yards away, no Indian approached near it.

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Little or nothing would be lost by waiting, as other teams were expected in a few hours; at nightfall seven did arrive with eleven armed men. Their wagons helped materially to enlarge the protecting circle, while the men increased the strength of the guard.

At a council that evening it was decided not to go near the Indian camp for twenty-four hours, unless the red men first came to them; and to show a bold front, asking no favor except to be allowed to cross the river undisturbed--and make no concessions. The Indians evidently did not want a show of arms, their immediate object being robbery under the guise of collecting toll; they had discovered that only a few wagons were crossing the river, and thought they could safely intimidate the smaller numbers.

Realizing the impending danger, Ben at once saw the necessity of forming a larger company, for there might be fifty thousand warriors within riding distance of the Trail, and still greater dangers ahead. That night couriers were sent back to ascertain how many men could come up on the morrow; and definite information was received that thirty more wagons would reach their camp before the next night.

When the Indians saw these reinforcements, they silently decamped and left the crossing unobstructed; but the incident naturally caused uneasiness in all the camps, as the sequel will show. By later {171} accounts, at least eleven massacres were perpetrated along the Oregon Trail by Indians during the overland migrations.

Some of those tragedies were revealed only in part by the irons of destroyed vehicles, with not a human being left to tell the dreadful story. Ben concluded that it would be unsafe for the two grain wagons to return; so he took them over and employed the drivers until they could find an opportunity of returning with others--or else continue all the way with him to Oregon.

Four days more of travel brought the train to another river crossing where they saw eleven nude men, women and children of a party whose three outfits had been burned, all provisions carried off and their teams driven away. Why the Indians had spared the lives of the victims none could tell; they had not been harmed bodily, but stripped of all their belongings. Ben gave the unfortunates one of the grain wagons and a team, while the people of the train fed and clothed them.

They were now in the buffalo country, and near where Ben had gone on the hunt that had been almost fatal to him on the previous trip across. He had no desire to duplicate the experience, but there were four more to feed than originally provided for, they had given the destitute party a month's supplies with the wagon; and he now realized the necessity of replenishing their stock of food.

So the camp was put in order and an organized {172} hunt arranged; teams were sent to bring in the game and preparations made to cure it. In five days the wagons returned fairly loaded down with jerked buffalo, and the journey was resumed with a bountiful supply of meat added to the previously diminished store.

So far Ben's horses and the mule team had felt the strengthening results of light rations of grain; but by this time nearly all of it had been fed out. Fortunately, the grass continued to be plentiful along stretches where, two years before, it had been eaten close to the ground by the large numbers of cattle and horses, with here and there a flock of sheep in the emigrant column.

The Trail crossed a wide, open country inhabited by warlike tribes, some of which were off on hunting expeditions or in forays against other tribes, and a few had not yet returned from their trapping expeditions. To the agreeable surprise of the emigrants, very few Indians were now seen, and those showed no signs of making trouble.

After this had continued for several weeks, vigilance was somewhat relaxed and the company began to fall apart--a repetition of what had transpired in previous years, often with disastrous results. Believing that all danger from Indians had passed, Robert and Abraham Shaeffer concluded to try their fortune in the California gold mines, and left the train.

Before he realized what was happening, Ben found {173} himself with the original company, except for the Shaeffer boys; but was not as much disturbed about it as he would have been a few weeks before. The grass was good, and the abundant feed in the vicinity of the camping places relieved the long tedious night watches, often far removed from them. His horses, mules and oxen were in good condition; the cows gave plenty of milk for the company, and the surplus cream made considerable butter.

Linda was enjoying the trip; if this was "hardship," she could have endured more of it without complaint. Andrew, who never tired of entertaining the little camp with his violin and quaint plantation songs, was happy with Jennie and Margie. Ben was comforted by the thought that they would soon be in the cabin home to which they had looked forward so long, and began to count the days--each one bringing them so much nearer their destination.

So far the trip had been a surprise to Ben, and a marked contrast to the one he had made with Squire Mulhall only two years before. The seasons had differed somewhat, but the greatest change consisted in the overcrowded Trail in 185-, and the much lesser number now.

He had been traveling several days in a wide and fertile valley, now the pride of a great State, and had just crossed the river for the first time to the right bank. The spot was ideal for a camp, with an abundance of grass, plenty of fuel and pure water for all. So enticing was the scene that Ben concluded {174} to lay over Sunday to rest the tired teams and the weary members of his party as well.

A low perpendicular bluff paralleled the river, with a narrow portion of the main valley, which promised ample feed for the teams, between them. The bluff on one side and river on the other prevented the stock from scattering; and for once no guard was sent out, as had been customary heretofore. A strip of wild grass higher than a man's shoulder bordered a dense growth of brush near the river.

The women took advantage of the stop-over to do their washing near the river crossing; and one of the men was bagging some of the numerous rabbits in the valley. Andrew spent most of his time entertaining others, as usual whenever opportunity offered; two of the horses had left the range and returned for a bit of bread or lick of salt. Ben was busily occupied with the cares of the camp, and planning the next stage of the trip.

On the following day two Indians were seen passing on horseback along the top of the low bluff; but nothing was thought of it, as there had been no trouble with them for several months, or for a thousand miles along the Trail. A small train of wagons crossed the river during the day and continued on to the west; soon afterward an Indian was seen fording it at the same place and riding furiously toward the east. About two hours later the same Indian returned, his pony exhibiting all the signs of {175} continued hard riding; after what followed it is certain that he was a scout sent up the Trail to ascertain whether or not another train was approaching.

During the afternoon two men from a near-by camp went out to milk their cows and look after the oxen; and to their surprise were unable to find either. Following on up the valley they soon came upon sure signs of hurried travel, and realized that the cattle had been stampeded from some cause not then apparent; after continuing along the Trail until near dark they were compelled to return slowly to the camp.

To their amazement they found it in utter disorder, and without a living soul. Wagons had been run together and partially burned; remnants of the outfits were scattered in every direction; remains of dead bodies were heaped upon the fire and in part consumed. The dreadful fact dawned upon them that the camp had been raided by the Indians during their absence, and their comrades massacred.

Linda, who had found a near-by refuge, remained in hiding until she heard voices in her own tongue, and then came out to the desolated camp. It was too dark to recognize the mutilated bodies, but by a token on the remains Linda discovered that Ben was one of the slain, and immediately lost consciousness. The horrors of that long night are beyond description, as the fears and alarms of a lifetime hovered over the heads of the sleepless survivors.

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This was part of the price which the overland travel of the 40s and 50s paid that the far Northwest might be settled by Americans and made a part of the United States. At least eleven such catastrophes are a matter of record. It is, of course, impossible at this date to recover the graves of the marytred Pioneers; but we can--and will--erect suitable memorials to the Unknown Dead of the Plains.

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But the first duty was to look after the living and {176} let the dead rest where they were. One of the men waded the river and started eastward on the Trail in search of aid, which he fortunately met within a few miles. Couriers were dispatched east and west to warn the emigrants and urge volunteers to assemble and punish the Indians.

In the early morning food and clothing were delivered to the stricken victims, and soon a train arrived to supply physical comforts to them. A hundred miles of the Trail were traversed by couriers, and before night a large number of armed men had assembled; time pressed, and none was lost.

During the day the trail of the oxen was anxiously located, so it could be followed at night. Each rider carried his rations in his pouch, or in packages strapped to his saddle; there was no thought of bedding or camp equipment, as they intended to march all night in the hope of overtaking the Indians. It is wonderful what a body of resolute men can accomplish when all are of one mind.

The trail, which led up the valley for some miles, was easily and rapidly followed in the night; on the table-lands it was dim, but recognized without much difficulty. At break of day a secluded spot was selected, the horses tethered and silence enjoined upon every one. A cautious reconnaissance had discovered signs of Indians; at midnight the march was resumed, and their camps sighted at daylight.

Each became his own captain as they descended in fury upon the slumbering Indians, and during the {177} mêlée that followed neither age nor sex was spared; women and children were ruthlessly shot down, and no prisoners taken. The oxen and all except one of the cows and two of the horses were recovered, but Andrew's mules could not be found. Orders were then given to assemble all the Indian horses possible, and shoot them on the spot.

The chastisement was swift, severe and long remembered by the remnant of the band. While this did not bring the dead to life or heal the wounds of the living, some reprisal was necessary to deter the savages from again molesting emigrant trains following the Trail on peaceful missions of finding homes for themselves and their families. It was cruel; but the emergency called for desperate measures.

After the massacre Andrew, Jennie and Margie wandered off listlessly on the Trail leading west, and passing scouts found them later a short distance from the camp. The Indians were terrified at their first sight of a negro, evidently believing Andrew to be an emissary of the evil spirit who could bring dire disaster upon them for any harm done to him; so he escaped.[1]

As Andrew returned to camp, the shock of the disaster seemed to awaken him to new duties of life; and a vision opened up before him. "Massa Ben" was gone, and only he was now left of the men {178} in the original party. Up to this time he had looked to others for direction, leaning upon them as a child upon a parent; but now he must act for and depend upon himself. Without realizing the change, Andrew became virtual head of the remnant of the party, and quietly assumed the responsibility.

His first act upon returning to camp was to look after the comfort of "Missus Linda" and provide a place where she might rest, while Jennie prepared some nourishment for her. Others had attempted the gruesome task of separating and identifying the dead; but they were so mutilated and in such a confused mass that all were finally buried in one grave.

Andrew's grief at the funeral was inconsolable; falling on his knees at the grave, he offered up a prayer expressing resignation to God's will and inspiring hopes for the future, that touched the heart of every one. While a surprise to all, it was comforting, particularly to Linda; Andrew's thoughts seemed to be centered mainly on his young mistress, and he spared no effort to encourage and assist her.

The burial of the victims preceded by only one day the revenge upon the Indians. Echoes of boasts from the returning party that none had been spared, children and mothers slain and the wounded dispatched without mercy, troubled Linda's gentle spirit. She could not participate in the elation of the men, and recalled what Ben had said of the "irrepressible conflict" between the Indians and the whites, as well as Andrew's prayer to "look for {179} relief from God Almighty," as the fervent negro had expressed it.

An exact account of the massacre will never be known, for none were left to tell the story. When the attack was made Linda and the three other women of the train were washing at the river, only a few hundred yards from the camp, though out of sight from it. Hearing the guns and seeing many armed Indians near-by, all rushed for the brush and high grass, hiding as best they could.

Immediately after the interment Linda retired, supperless and disconsolate, to the temporary camp Andrew had prepared for her. The situation was indeed very desperate. Her brothers had gone on to California, the last hired man had left them three weeks before, and her husband was dead.

Deep grief, prolonged fatigue and loss of sleep finally overcame her, and she sank into a slumber where sorrow was temporarily forgotten. Morning brought partial relief; and Linda could then fix her mind on the emergency that confronted them. As soon as Jennie knew her "missus" was awake she brought some food, of which Linda partook sparingly, although it was the first for about thirty-six hours.

The wagon and yokes had been burned, and the clothing destroyed or carried off with the remainder of the outfit; nothing was left but the horses, the oxen and one cow. Linda had the helpless colored man, as she still thought of Andrew, as well as his {180} wife and child, to consider; but a new courage took possession of her mind and drove away despair. "I have yet something to live for," she said to herself.

Summoning Andrew to her bedside, Linda was surprised to note his confident demeanor. "Yes, missus, I kin drive the oxen, I knows I kin." "But, Andrew, we have no wagon." "Yes, missus, there's a wagon down by the ford; I seen it this mornin." When reminded that the wagon didn't belong to her, Andrew responded, "Everybody takes a wagon standing on the road, if he thinks it better than hizzen."

Linda remembered the accepted practice of the Trail that abandoned vehicles, of which there were a great number, became common property; and followed Andrew to the ford to see the wagon. "Yuse jest take that; I kin drive it, I know I kin," Andrew confidently reiterated. "Yuse kin take my wagon (which had not been destroyed by the Indians), Jennie kin ride the mare and take care of the loose oxen and the cows, and Margin kin ride in this wagon with me." Evidently Andrew had been thinking and planning while Linda slept; the new experience awakened his latent abilities.

Fortunately a considerable part of their money was sewed in a dress she wore; and some hidden under a false bottom of the wagon-box was recovered, much to her relief. Linda and Andrew managed to put together an outfit enabling them to resume the journey. He developed as the necessity required, {181} Jennie soon became more than a dependent, and even Margie found incidental ways to be helpful.

Several hundred miles of the Trail were still ahead of them; but each day brought new experiences and increased confidence. Linda's strength gradually returned; and Andrew proved that he could drive an ox-team as well as play the violin, which had been laid aside unused since the fatal Sunday when "Massa Ben" had been killed. His whole ambition centered in the welfare of his "missus," and he felt an obligation to see her safely in the cabin home. As they neared the end of the journey, Linda became still more self-reliant. She was surprised at the improvement in Andrew and Jennie, and finally in herself; and realized in a still larger measure that she had something more to live for.

Just seven months and one day after she and Ben drove out of the Shaeffer door-yard in Missouri, Linda drew up unannounced in front of the cabin which he had built on his claim in the Oregon Country. It was late in the evening, while the Squire and the girls were at supper. Hearing a noise outside, Mulhall arose and as he opened the door Linda was just reaching out to knock for admission; catching sight of her, the girls screamed with delight and in their hasty greeting nearly upset the table.

"Where's Ben?" was the first question the Squire asked; but quickly divining from Linda's countenance that something had happened, the question {182} was not repeated. He then turned to greet Andrew and Jennie, and after them Margie. Leaving Linda with the girls, Mulhall accompanied Andrew to care for the teams, and then learned the dreadful news; thus he knew there could now be no joyful reunion, and hastened back as soon as possible.

The sight of the cabin that Ben had built for their home, and the conveniences he had arranged inside, revived the dormant grief within Linda's breast until she sank unconscious and helpless to the cabin floor. Poor woman! She had fortified herself with a resolution to be brave; but her emotion would not down, and relief came only in unconsciousness. When she awoke the Squire refrained from asking any questions about the tragedy, but talked about the country of which she had seen so little, and discussed plans for the future.

Next morning when Linda's calmness had returned, she voluntarily told Mulhall the whole story as they wandered over the extensive and beautiful Donation claim, a mile in length and half a mile in width. It was an ideal place for a home, nearly all fertile prairie with a clump of timber in one corner some distance from the cabin, while a rivulet of pure water fed by springs on the claim flowed through the land. Small wonder that Ben should have written to her so enthusiastically about their future home; or that he braved so much to reach it with her.

He looked forward to a bright future spent in {183} developing and embellishing this choice tract of land in a salubrious climate, with the assistance of the young wife whom he adored. But the treacherous savages in the wilds of what is now part of the State of Idaho put a cruel end to his joys and hopes. Unfortunate man! But not the only one, for many like him met a similar fate on the Oregon Trail.

Craig, who had never before seen Linda, came the following Sunday, and was fairly stunned when told of the disaster. He loved Ben for the many good traits of his character, and was drawn closer to him through their mutual adventures. "My lady," he said in a broad Scotch brogue, "you shall have the cabin and all there is in it; and I will move the line twenty rods away."

He added something about being able to secure a full claim for himself, as there was still vacant land adjacent; but made no mention of the fact that the new boundary would make his own less valuable. It did not matter very much, for he had long thought that Ben should come into the ownership of both claims, a mile square in the great fertile valley. There were many instances in which the earlier settlers had taken up that amount of land in their own right, under the law as at first passed; but later settlers were restricted to half that area.

Craig at once had a new cabin built to comply with the legal requirements of his own residence; and then without either ostentation or Linda's knowledge, had his will re-drawn in her favor instead of {184} Ben's, as the first one read. We are not sure that Ben knew of the first; both acts were characteristic of Craig's modesty, forethought and generosity.

Andrew wanted very much to see "Massa Pelton," but hesitated to leave Linda; he could not tell which he loved best, his old master or the new missus. Both had been good to him, which was more than he could say about some others of the white race.

Great numbers, perhaps a majority, of the early settlers in the Oregon Country had come from slave States, bringing prejudices against the black man so intense that at first no negro could live in their midst under pain of the whipping post. Unbelievable! the reader will exclaim--but yet authentic history. The law had been passed by the Provisional Government under the stimulus of temporary and unreasonable excitement, and without due consideration or deliberation; it was never enforced and soon repealed.

Linda asked the Squire if he thought Pelton would consent to have Andrew and Jennie stay with her through the winter; but at the moment Mulhall considered it unlikely. "Won't I have time to write him before you go with Andrew?" she asked. "I'll wait till you do," the Squire answered, as he could see the necessity of help for the lone widow, though he didn't yet know the principal reason.

Linda wrote not to Isaac, but to Kate. After telling her of the tragedy, she explained that she was looking forward to another one to live for, which explained why she so much wanted Jennie to be {185} with her. When Kate told Pelton of the special reason he said, "God bless her, yes! I would almost say you should also go and be with her." But Kate had her own household and their own little boy to care for.

Squire Mulhall was reluctant to leave for home, as he had planned to do on Ben's arrival; in fact had about made up his mind to stay. But the girls must be taken back before school opened; and he did not see how it could be managed unless he made the trip with them, even if he returned at once to the Hardy cabin. Imagine his surprise when, two days after Linda received Kate's letter telling her that Andrew and Jennie could remain with her, Pelton knocked at the door and greeted the astonished Squire in the cabin.

Isaac explained that he wanted to see his former slaves so badly that, over-night, he concluded to make the trip; besides Kate had a small package to send to Linda. He instinctively knew also that the Squire would want to stay longer with her; so on his return he would take the girls back in time for school. Andrew fairly shouted with joy at the sight of his old master; Jennie was no less jubilant, but had a different way of showing it; not until sleep overtook them, could either restrain their long pent-up feelings.

The two men counselling together that night agreed upon a course of action--first, that with Linda's consent an addition would be built to the cabin, and a {186} one-room cabin put up for Andrew; second, that Pelton would return home immediately, taking the girls to his home until Kate could make suitable arrangements for them in their own home in the village near the school; and third, that the Squire should stay with Linda for an indefinite time, or at least until after the approaching event that was to mean so much for her.

It required only one week to have Andrew's one-room cabin ready to move into, and not much longer to complete the addition to the main dwelling, more than doubling its rooming capacity. Meanwhile Isaac had returned home with the girls ready for school. The two men wanted to build a more pretentious residence, but Linda said she preferred to live in the humble one that Ben had built with his own hands.

The little conveniences that he had provided seemed doubly precious in her eyes; every shelf and cooking utensil, the sheet iron stove and even the cups he had used all seemed treasures to her. Having been planned and built to accommodate Craig as well as Ben, the cabin was commodious and very comfortable. She did want an open fireplace, that she might enjoy the cheerful glow of the evening fire and the pure-health giving air; so a large fireplace was built in it.

* * * * * * * * *

The Squire had been busy during the summer, and raised a bounteous crop on the fresh plowed virgin {187} soil; to protect it during the winter he had erected a "post-barn" large enough to shelter all the stock and store the provender. Trunks of beautiful young timber growths up to a hundred feet in length and practically any size desired, were easily obtainable. A post-barn was constructed by planting posts of this timber deep in the ground to support a roof, using the ground as a floor; with a shelter on the windward side, stock would be comfortable in the open air of the mild Oregon winter.

Andrew was happy in the thought of staying with Linda, without expecting compensation for his labor; a wage was something foreign to his mind. He was denied the privilege of owning a home in his own right; and what was the use of earning wages, when he could not enforce collection in courts closed to him? But these things did not disturb him, as he lived in an atmosphere of love for his master and missus, Jennie and Margie, and was happy.

December had come, and still the flowers remained in bloom and the grass green; Christmas was approaching, and the Squire said they ought to celebrate. He hoped to divert Linda's mind from her great loss; but was puzzled how to do so. His first thought was to make a present to her, though uncertain what would be the best selection.

Linda did not enter into the spirit of the suggested festivities--not that she was brooding over her affliction, for she had regained her cheerfulness. When Christmas was only three days away, and {188} before the Squire had made up his mind about the present and the celebration, a boy of nine pounds appeared in the cabin; and all agreed that his name should be Benjamin.

Kate--hereafter Mrs. Pelton now that she is a mother--was delighted when she heard that Linda also had a boy; no trace of jealousy tinged her thought. Isaac, her own little son, was the brightest and cutest baby in all the world; there could be no rival to him, and nothing would excite the remotest feeling of envy. Sincere congratulations were sent by Mr. and Mrs. Pelton to Mrs. Hardy with a substantial gift for Benjamin, "the future protector of his mother and a joy forever."

From some unexplained cause, both mothers felt that the two babes were to be drawn close together in the experiences of life, as their parents had been. Mrs. Pelton, whose wishes seemed almost prophetic, freely communicated these thoughts to Mrs. Hardy--not Linda any more. Prophecies of later days, like those of olden times, are often remarkably fulfilled.

The two "babes in the woods," we might almost literally say, grew and thrived amazingly under the best maternal care and in the healthful environment of pure air and mild climate. Mulhall zealously guarded the supply of pure milk and food for the household, and looked after the little one with an almost paternal affection. After putting it off as long as possible, he reluctantly informed Mrs. Hardy {189} that he must soon leave for his own home, and at the same time lessened her anxieties by saying that he would provide for her financial needs.

Pelton had reached his own conclusion that Ben Hardy's widow needed Andrew more than he; and wrote that the colored man could remain with her a year or longer--practically without limit of time. That was a sacrifice, as Isaac had planned to have his former slaves near-by, where he could make their advancing years comfortable and happy; but was now convinced that Andrew and Jennie would be about as content where they were as in his own home, and, realized that they would greatly assist Mrs. Hardy. A second letter, received soon after father Mulhall arrived home, so informed Mrs. Hardy, to her great joy and relief; she often wondered if it would ever be possible to repay this great kindness, forgetting that Pelton was already rewarded by the consciousness of having contributed materially to the welfare and happiness of others.

It seemed to the parents an incredibly short time before the "babes" of the two households became school children. A few years later they were taking courses in the University, and grew into manhood--the pride of their elders and an honor to the State which had been developed out of the region in which they were born. Gradually, too, the parents in each family realized that they had passed middle life, and were approaching old age.

Their eyes were dimmed and hearing somewhat {190} dulled, but their minds were still clear and active; aspirations, hopes and even ambitions remained with them, while reflections upon past achievements and some failures (the ripe experience to which there is no short-cut) brought deeper thought and greater happiness into their lives. In both the Pelton and Hardy families, the results of successful endeavor, intellectual development and independence were manifest in an unusual degree.

Kate--Mrs. Pelton--had changed into a motherly stature so attractive to her husband and all friends; the active, graceful movement and the fire of her eye were retained, her complexion was still ruddy, and there was a sprinkling of grey hairs to lighten the color of the whole. Pelton continued in excellent health; the active outdoor life on his farm had developed a sturdy frame, strengthened his muscles and quickened his mind. Like many other pioneers with great opportunities before them, he had prospered beyond expectation, and was in affluent circumstances.

Ben Hardy had located on a Donation claim of three hundred and twenty acres of such intrinsic value that if he had lived, the rise of land values in a country of ever-increasing population and prosperity would have made him a wealthy man. When the Donation Act under which he took up his claim was passed, the law provided that half of it should be held by the wife in her own right.

Before that date, and for many years afterward, {191} a wife could not legally inherit or hold property in fee simple except in the Oregon Country, under this special act. Incredible as it may seem, she was also denied the right to control her children, sue in the courts, speak in public or enter schools of higher education.

So when Linda became Ben's wife, she had no property rights except insofar as this special law gave her an equal share in the land upon which they had settled. Hardy did not live to return to the claim, but after years of doubt and delay, his widow came into ownership of half (160 acres) in her own right; and by descent her son received the other half.

The experiences of these years, and considerable of what may properly be called semi-litigation, developed Mrs. Hardy's latent ability to cope with business problems as they arose; so she prospered and became known as a woman of executive ability. It was in memory of the husband and for the welfare of her boy, the younger Benjamin, that she resolved that life was worth living; and right well did she prove the correctness of the resolution.

Things did not run smoothly during the whole of the long period. Pelton had been compelled to make one trip to the old home in Missouri to adjust some business matters. Mrs. Hardy sustained a loss in consequence of a heavy snowfall, and met some reverses of minor importance; but the steady development of the country and consequent increase of land values, proved of great advantage to them both.

[1] A similar instance is recorded in the case of York, the slave of Captain Lewis of the Lewis & Clark Expedition, upon whom the Indians looked with superstitious awe mingled with terror.

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