Chapter XXIII (9)

As the severity of the winter increased, they took daily hunting excursions, in order to procure the necessary furs and skins to help ward off the cold, always preserving their game, which was brought home, dried and smoked by the fire, to preserve it against an hour of need. They soon had their hut lined throughout with skins, the edges joined with sinews or slender strips of hide, which kept the wind from finding its way to them through the openings. They also covered the ground with skins, reserving the fur of the foxes and beaver which they snared, as well as the lighter skins, to make themselves new and warm clothing. Their food was almost entirely animal, as they rarely succeeded in getting anything of a vegetable character. They occasionally found a "nut-pine" tree, from which they gathered its fruits, but they disliked the taste of them, and gathered them more for the light they gave when on fire, than for eating. Though they were not as comfortably housed, or as well provided with the necessaries of life, as the winter previously; yet they did not suffer so as to endanger health, by either hunger or cold, and their greatest discomfort arose from the want of vegetable food and salt. For the last article they had searched in vain, and had come to the conclusion that there were no saline beds within many miles of them. Jones and Cole never grew tired of listening to their account of the hidden wealth they had discovered, and they would spend days speculating on the best plan of opening a communication with the districts containing the golden prize.

"I would have kept the urn," said Cole, "if a whole legion of Indians had been at my back."

"Perhaps not," said Jones. "I myself have seen the time when gold was a burthen."

"The time you shot the boulder!" remarked Cole, laughing.

"Laugh as you will," said Jones; "that was a lucky shot if it was an almost fatal one."

"What is it?" they all asked, seeing there was more than Jones felt disposed to tell.

"Why," said Jones, "when among the gold mines on the other side of the mountain we were not satisfied with the flakes of gold in the sand, and supposed, of course, that there was a solid bed of it somewhere up the river, from which it was washed down by the constant action of the waters. As we proceeded along the river the ground became more rugged until it led us into a cluster of hills and precipices jumbled up together. Entering a narrow ravine we soon came to a curious looking place with smooth sides standing perpendicularly, about twenty feet apart, which was gradually contracted to within two feet, leaving the end narrow and jagged. We soon saw there was ore in it, and on examining closely we discovered places where large blocks of the precious metal had been torn from its bed, with the marks of the mining tools still plainly visible. Looking around us we picked up among the loose pieces on the ground some lumps of pure gold, which were among the specimens we carried home."

"Yes, yes; that is all very well, and very true," said Cole, "but it is not all; tell the rest."

"They will not believe it if I do. They never did in the States, so what is the use of it?" said Jones.

"We have seen such wonderful things ourselves that we are prepared for anything," said the trapper.

"He may if he chooses," said Jones, pointing to Cole. "I shall not, it is of no use."

"The narrow place," said Cole, "where we found the gold was about fifty feet high, and nearly half way up to the top we discovered a huge boulder of pure gold, as large as a bushel basket, hanging by a slim thread of gold no larger than your finger. This thread was fully four inches long, and seemed to have been cut that way by some one who had been supported while doing so from above, for the boulder was in that position that if worked at from below it would crush the artisan in its fall. We were equally resolved to get hold of this mammoth prize, but the question how we could get it was not so easily solved, as it rested against the opposite side and would evidently turn and fall if this narrow thread was broken.

"'I have it!' said Jones, exulting at the happy thought. 'I'll shoot it off,' for we both had rifles.

"'And be crushed with its weight,' said I; but the words had not died on my lips when the sharp crack of the rifle was heard, and down came the prize. Both turned to fly from the danger, but Jones's foot caught in some loose stones and he was prostrated, and the boulder rolling as it fell deposited itself exactly across him. I removed the uncomfortable load as soon as possible, but Jones's stomach has been out of order ever since, especially when he sees solid bodies overhead."

"What became of the lump of gold?" asked the trapper.

"We hid it in the earth; but should have been to it again before this time had we not been overhauled by the Indians."

"A fortunate escape," said Howe, "equal to one I made many years ago, ere I learned to distrust the ground I walked over before testing its security. Being on one of our trapping expeditions, father and myself found ourselves on the territory of the St. Croix Indians, who evinced great friendship for us, insisting we should take up our abode in their village as long as we thought fit to remain in their territory. We soon became domesticated among them, and spent our nights there although our days were spent in the most secret recesses of the forest in setting our traps, curing skins, and in observing the habits of the wild denizens of the forest. One day father and myself separated, he to look after our traps set in one direction, I in another; and as I neared the place of destination, while walking over ground smooth and level as you ever saw the ground in the forest, suddenly it gave way, precipitating me into a hole full ten feet deep with smooth, perpendicular sides that defied all attempts to climb them. I had fallen into an Indian's deer trap, dug and covered over so as to deceive them; but which would readily give way precipitating the game into the snare, the escape from which was impossible. I laughed at my stupidity at first, as I knew within an hour, father would be along when with his assistance I could be easily extricated. I soon had enough to do without laughing, for in half an hour after, I heard a step above, but before I had time to speculate on it, the nose of a half grown cub was thrust over the top, and in the next moment its ugly carcase came tumbling down and fell with a crash at my feet, uttering a cry of pain as it fell, which was answered by a growl from above, and in a minute more its dam stood on the brink growling fiercely at me, as she saw her cub lay helpless and moaning on the ground. With a spring she lighted on her feet within six feet of where I stood, for I had retreated into the farthest corner, not at all relishing a fight in such close quarters, for the hole was only about eight feet square--and not a very agreeable place to be cornered in with an enraged bear. Fortunately I had clung to my rifle, in falling, and had also my hunting knife in my belt, so I concluded if she was in for a struggle, not to back out of it. I saw at once the cub had been killed in the fall, for the old bear smelt round and moaned softly to it, and then finding it did not stir, turned it over and over with her paw. Finding it still exhibited no signs of life, she turned towards me with gnashing teeth and flashing eyes, and then, I must say, I really felt cornered. You know I told you," he added apologetically, "that I was young then; in fact not more than twenty. Well, the beast raised herself for a spring at me, when I gave her a pair of bullets, that made her howl; but she sprang and grasping me in her huge arms, fastened my arms to my side so that my knife was useless in my belt, and I was making up my mind that all was over with me, when father halloed above, he having been drawn thither, by my calls for help, followed by a leap into the hole, and a half dozen thrusts of his knife into the monster's heart, relieved me from the closest embrace I hope ever to encounter."

"I should suppose you could have seen some signs to indicate the trap," said Edward.

"The Indians take good care that there are none; covering slender poles over with a thick layer of leaves that hides effectually the abyss beneath."

"My brother was in danger," said the chief, laughing at his mishaps, "but it was not equal to one of my warriors who, with me, went out once to recover some horses the thieving Crows had driven away. We found the horses, and starting for home had proceeded about a mile, when we discovered a whole army of the Crows start in pursuit. Our only hope of safety for ourselves lay in flight, and abandoning our horses for which we had risked our lives, we went scouring through the forest at a furious rate. The animals we rode were jaded, and those of our pursuers fresh, and we soon saw they gained upon us, and abandoning our horses behind a sharp curve that hid us from sight, we made them gallop away, and then betook ourselves to trees for safety. In ten minutes after the Crows galloped past us, leaving us safely secreted in the friendly branches in which we had taken shelter. Shognaw had climbed a large beech tree that stood within a few feet of the one in which I had taken shelter. I once or twice thought I heard a growl like that uttered by cubs, but the excitement I felt for our safety, dispelled it the next moment. As soon as we were left alone, and the sounds of the pursuers died away in the distance, I felt some alarm, for I knew if there were cubs about, the old bear would dislodge us, and, in all probability, our retreat would be discovered by some straggling Crows. At that moment, Shognaw, calling my attention in a low tone, said, 'I have got into a bear's hole, full of young cubs, what shall I do? for the old one will not be away long, as she, on finding a commotion raised by the Crows will, for her own safety, take refuge in her den.'

"'We cannot fight her, that is certain,' said I, 'for we should then be discovered; but, if we watch our chance, we may get away from this spot, and find safety in some other, but we must be very cautious that no Crows are in sight first.'

"'I think there are none now,' he replied, not at all relishing the idea of trespassing on the domicil of madam Bruin.

"'Hist! there they are,' said I, as we saw a number of them come yelling towards us, and on looking again, I discovered them in pursuit of something which, in a few minutes, bounded from a clump of bushes and made for the tree in which Shognaw had hid, and then to our dismay, we saw it was the old bear pursued by the Crows. He too saw her coming, and ascended to the topmost branches high above the hole, and well he did, for in a moment more, she had crawled in just as the hunters came to the foot of the tree. They were foiled of their game, and after consulting for a moment whether it was best to cut or burn down the tree, they concluded to burn it, as the less laborious way to dislodge the old bear. Accordingly, they dispersed in search of fire, leaving half their number to guard the tree while away. I saw at once that we were caught in a trap, and that nothing but coolness and strategy could save us. The tree in which I was, being a little out from the one they were watching, favored my escape, which I effected by noiselessly descending, and edging away by darting from tree to tree, until I had attained a safe position that overlooked the spot where I feared Shognaw would meet his doom. The fire was soon kindled, and being fed with dry brush, soon wound and crackled up the trunk, and began to scorch and consume the branches and leaves of the tree. I began to think I ought to face the whole band single handed, in an attempt to rescue the poor fellow, when I saw him swing himself down from limb to limb, and drop to the ground in the midst of the astonished Crows, and take to flight. For a moment they were too surprised to comprehend that it was really a man, and a foe; but they soon recovered from the panic, and sounding their war cry, the whole band gave chase. Shognaw took to a river half a mile distant, and plunging in, rose among some rushes that skirted the bank, among which he hid himself till dark, when he made his way in safety home, which he reached before I did, for I was looking out for him the whole night, and returned when I made up my mind that he had at last fallen into the hands of the Crows."

Chapter Twenty-First.

Departure of winter. Joy at the fact of knowing which way they were travelling. Their encampment by the side of a beautiful lake. They reach the first ranges of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Whirlwind offers to go to Mr. Duncan's encampment and guide them through the forests. He starts on that expedition accompanied by Cole. The children pursue their journey. Discovery of gold. They experience great difficulties in crossing the Sierra. Three of their horses dashed to pieces over a precipice. Narrow escape of Jones. Discovery of singular ancient walls. An engraved slab of granite. They reach the foot of the Sierra in safety. Their route continued. They finally arrive at the residence of a Spanish Curate. They consent to tarry awhile at his house.

Winter gradually wore away--the snow-girt hills and valleys were divested of their mantle of gloom, and were clothed with vestments of green, spangled with crimson, blue, and gold flowers, the perfume of which called forth the soft hum of bees as they flew from flower to flower, extracting the honied dews. Far from the sunny South the birds came with their glad, cheering voices, giving forth a welcome to the dawning spring. The winter had been long and tedious, cheered only with the certainty that they knew which way they had to travel in order to reach the haunts of civilization; and though they had kept the hunger wolf at bay, their strength gradually gave out under their unhealthy diet, and when they were ready to travel, they were in a pitiful condition to endure its fatigues. Their horses were even worse off than themselves. Worn with privation to skeletons, they were drooping and spiritless; and had not the wanderers used great exertion to collect the young grass for them, they would have perished, for they were too languid to crop it themselves.

Slowly at first new vigor became infused into them, and in a few weeks' delay, and the spring rains being over, their horses gathered strength, and they determined to proceed on their journey. Upon mature deliberation they considered it prudent to cross the mountains to the Pacific coast, and then send word to Mr. Duncan where they were, as they did not deem themselves strong or well enough prepared to make the distance back to their friends. Whirlwind heard the decision, and then told them he thought it best that one or more of them should return to Mr. Duncan, and as he could be spared best, offered to go, if either Jones or Cole would guide him on the road; "for," said the chief, "Duncan and the rest can come to you better than you can go to them, in your present condition."

"Always generous," said Jane, with gratitude beaming in her eye, for in truth she felt heart-sick at the thought of placing a still greater distance between herself and those her heart yearned to see.

"It is nothing," said the chief. "Whirlwind would give his life, if it would save the antelope a pang of sorrow or grief."

"I think Duncan would as soon settle here as in Oregon, his original destination," said the trapper; "and if we can so arrange it as to make it safe for us, I think myself it would be a better plan, than for all of us to proceed over the mountains, and then, when we are able, return again."

"In doing this," said Cole, "we can reach Mr. Duncan's camp, if still where you left him, which I think he is, before midsummer, and then he will be able to reach you at the nearest settlement by the time frost again comes. I am willing to accompany the chief, while Jones can guide you in safety over the Sierra before you."

Selecting two of the best horses for the use of Whirlwind and Cole, they took leave of them, charging them with a multitude of messages for their friends, and when they started on the homeward route, they too moved on towards the mountain before them, whose snow-crested head loomed up among the clouds. At noon our wanderers halted at the spot they retreated from when they went into their winter quarters, and after resting, began to climb the rugged ascent, Jones leading the way; and, save an occasional path beaten by the denizens of the forest, their only landmark was the blazed trees.[14] Jones had been over the ground before, and as his memory was very tenacious, he saved them from much anxiety, and often from danger, as well as unnecessary fatigue. Their progress was necessarily slow and painful, but they were still brave at heart, and bore it in silence. At night they halted by the side of a beautiful lake, around which the hills curved gracefully, forming a natural basin, which held the transparent waters against the side of the mountain. Its banks were richly covered with grass, and shaded by aspens which, with the rugged peaks of the mountains that towered above, gave it a sylvan appearance.

[14] Bark cut off from trees to indicate a certain course through
the forests. It is a very common practice among the pioneers of
the West.

Numerous flocks of ducks were seen on the surface of the lake, and some of them contributed to the supper of the travellers, whose appetites, sharpened by the mountain air, relished their delicious flavor. Following down this lake the next morning for nearly half a mile, they passed round it, and commenced the ascent of the range above them. Innumerable springs dotted the trail on either side, while shrubs and the earliest spring flowers hung and overrun every crevice in the rocks around them. The scenery was wilder here than any they had met with before in all their wanderings. Their path led them often between stupendous, curious looking rocks, which rose on either side, narrowing the pass so that they were obliged to travel in Indian file. It was a singular place--the grey, smooth, rocky precipices--the strip of blue sky far above--an open chasm, in which one would naturally expect if anywhere, to encounter spirits and hobgoblins. Happily for our wanderers, they were well aware they had not emigrated from the old world, but in their place feared to encounter hostile Indians. Emerging from this defile, they continued their course over a rocky surface, the vegetation every moment growing more sparse, and when night came on they were nowhere near water, and all they had to relieve their thirst was what they found in crevices of rocks that had collected there during the last rain. A little scanty herbage was all their horses could find after their hard day's travel, and had they not brought a supply of fowl from the lake where they had camped the night before, they would have gone supperless to rest.

At early dawn they left that inhospitable spot, and by sunrise came to the top of the acclivity of the range. Below them lay a beautiful valley clothed with verdure, through which flowed a considerable river, and beyond the range of hills that skirted it on the other side, rose the topmost snow-covered peak of the Sierra. They found the descent into the valley far more difficult than the ascent, the trail often leading them along a narrow footpath, the rocks rising perpendicularly on one side, while on the other were yawning chasms a hundred feet below, apparently ready to receive them, should they stumble, or deviate from the rugged path before them. They made the descent in safety, and rested themselves for the remainder of the day on the bank of the river. On examining the stream, they found it too deep to be forded in the usual way of riding their horses over. They built a raft, on which they crossed, holding the horses by the halter, making them swim by its side.

The next morning, with a day's supply of provisions for themselves and animals, they began the ascent of the range before them, the summit of which they gained the next day with perfect safety, and then began the opposite descent, camping for the night on the western side. The slope at this point was less rugged and difficult of descent than the other, and they encamped at its base, having made extraordinary marches the last few days, taking into consideration the dangerous path over which they had travelled. There was no valley here, the ground between this range and the Sierra being a commingling of rolling hills, shady dells, and narrow ravines, all densely covered with verdure, through which small rivulets murmured, taking their rise at the base of the Sierra, and wound their way through the broken surface, now in tranquil beauty, and anon dashing in waterfalls down ledges of rocks, their clear limpid waters lashed to a foam. Large quantities of deer, elk, antelope, and mountain sheep, were found there, as well as wild turkeys, geese, partridges, duck, and numerous other smaller fowls. Secure in the mountain fastnesses the game had multiplied till it had completely filled the whole country, and Howe declared that during all his hunting and trapping career, he had never encountered such a variety and quantity in so small a space of territory.

"I cannot think it a small space," said Jones. "In my opinion, it extends many hundred miles each way, giving game range enough."

They were now at the foot of the last and most formidable object that debarred them from civilization, and here they thought it prudent to halt a few days to recruit their own as well as their animal's strength, and prepare provision to carry with them. The second day of the halt while they were in search of the roots of the yampa, they found on turning up the earth that it was specked with fine particles of gold. They were highly elated at this, for now, with a fair prospect of freeing themselves from the wilds, it had its old intrinsic value, and doubly valuable would it be to them, on gaining a settlement, as not one of them had an article of clothing about them that was not made of skins, and many in not over good repair.

"We can save this now, I suppose," said Sidney, "that the chief is not by with evil spirits?"

"Certainly, as much as you like," returned the trapper. "I intend to find some on my own account."

"You will not find any that will equal in quantities and value, that of the cavern in the oasis," said Edward.

"You don't know that," returned his uncle. "I have always noticed where gold is found in flakes, mixed with earth, that it has been washed in ages past into its present bed, from where it originally was in a pure state. At least such is the conclusion formed by present appearances."

"No harm in searching for it," said Jones, who was in ecstacies at the discovery of gold, and he began to tear up the loose earth in every direction around him. Leaving the rest picking out the tiny flakes from the earthy bed, Howe and Jones spent the day in examining the localities around where they thought it most likely the ore was to be found, but obtained only torn hands and feet for their labor, and were glad to give up the search and return to camp. During their absence the children had collected a great deal, sometimes finding nuggets as large as a walnut.

"Oh! well," said Jones, in a fretful tone, when the children displayed their wealth before him, "I can get enough when I am over the mountains, if I have missed it to-day."

"As for that, we will share with you," said Jane. "You have lead us so far out of the wilderness where, without your aid, we might have perished. We do not forget this, and what we have to bestow, which is very little, is at your command."

"Well, well, there is no need of it: I tell you I have lumps of gold over the mountains larger than I can lift. Besides, can I not get some myself out of the earth to-morrow?"

After a few days' sojourn here, they prepared themselves as well as their scanty means would allow, to cross the barrier before them. All day long they rode over the broken ground, along which the trail lay, and at night halted far up its rugged side, where they could look down upon the rolling valley below. Here they found the night air very cold, and they were obliged to enclose boughs around them to break the wind from their miserable retreat while they slept.

Taking an early breakfast, they started on, and at night, having made a good day's ride, reached within a short distance of the summit of the mountain. Here they experienced much difficulty in respiration. The vegetation also became very sparse; the ground sometimes in large spaces being covered with piles of slate and limestone, among which, not a shrub could take root. They often terminated in precipices making the trail through their windings difficult and dangerous. By the aid of large fires they spent the night very comfortably, and the next morning determined, while still refreshed by rest, to cross the summit and make the descent so far as would make respiration less difficult, for even now they were at times dizzy and faint. To ride through these difficult places was impossible, and dismounting, they passed up the narrow path one at a time; sometimes the ascent was so glassed with ice and so steep that they were obliged to pull themselves up by clinging with their hands to the rocks above them. A crust of ice and snow covered the ground, and the horses being unshod, floundered and stumbled, and often made narrow escapes from being precipitated into the abyss below. The poor beasts seemed to comprehend the danger, and carefully tried the ground at every step before venturing their weight fully upon it, and shuddering and trembling, kept as far from the edge of the ice-bound rocks as the narrowness of the pass would allow them. The sun shone brightly, but it created little warmth, and in the middle of June they were suffering the rigors of winter.

Safely they stood upon the summit of the Sierra! Away to the west a smooth blue belt girt the horizon, while to the east a long range of mountains rose against the sky. It was the Pacific on the west, and the Wahsatch mountains on the east, with the broad valleys basking in a summer sun between them, through which rivers wound their dark serpentine lines, while away to the north-east the great desert lay, with its white sands glittering beneath the rays that fell upon it.

What struck them as peculiar, was numerous dark spots scattered at intervals over the barren waste, while in the centre lay some of immense size, clothed with dark verdure, from the midst of which rose a mountain, looking from that distance, like a shaft against the sky. They concluded to themselves, these must be strips of land, yet in their wanderings they had come across but one. They did not relish the idea of being caught in darkness on that inhospitable elevation, and turning their steps once more into the trail, began the descent. Greatly to their relief, they found this more even and less steep, and descended a few hundred feet without any great exertion. They now could breathe freer, and began to be much relieved. Ice and snow also disappeared, and keeping on their way steadily, by night they reached a refreshing spring, around which grass grew in abundance, and by which they encamped for the night. Tired and weary as they were, they were more cheerful and happy that night than they had been for months previously, it seemed to them that the great barrier had been overcome, and they had safely passed the last fiery ordeal they should be called to encounter. They felt as though the night had passed, and day was dawning on their weary and forlorn prospects.

They were in no great hurry to be on their road the next morning, for on awaking they found themselves sore and stiff in their limbs, and their beasts' hoofs torn and swollen. Towards noon, however, much refreshed, they once more started, and after proceeding on their journey about two hours, they came to a dangerous pass--the path being not over three feet wide, steep, and difficult of descent.[15] Directing Sidney, Jane, and Edward ahead, Howe and Jones began the descent with the horses; when in the most difficult place, one of the animals became restive, and rearing, was precipitated below, dragging Jones, who had hold of the bridle, with him. One terrible cry of distress was heard as the horse went over the side, and then a crash on the jagged rocks, and the noble beast was dashed to atoms two hundred feet below them. Frightened at the plunge and cries of mortal anguish, the rest of the horses broke, and bounded wildly down the path. Howe, seeing he could not control them, sprang close to the wall of rock, thus saving himself from being crowded over the abyss by the terrified beasts who, in their headlong career, heeded nothing before them. As they came to a sharp angle in the trail, as it wound down the mountain, the two foremost horses, instead of turning, plunged over the side, and with a neigh of terror, were soon crushed, like their companion, on the rocks in the deep abyss below. The others seeing the two disappear, paused sufficiently to avert the danger, and turning the angle, landed safely on the table, where the children had preceded them.

[15] Since 1840 this pass over the Sierra has been abandoned, and
one far easier and less difficult discovered twenty miles below
it. It was originally used by the Indians, as the shortest route
to the valley beyond.

Terrified at seeing the horses without Howe and Jones, they hastened up the mountain to where the first catastrophe had occurred, and arrived in time to see their uncle assist Jones into the path from a jutting rock a few feet below, where he had landed in no wise hurt, with the exception of a few bruises. The rock that had caught him was but a few feet broad, and it was nearer a miracle that he was not dashed to the bottom of the abyss than we are accustomed to experience. The poor beast was a pitiful sight to look upon, and at a glance at his mangled body they turned sickened away. The other two had also been crushed instantly and lay lifeless where they had fallen. Thankful for their own escape, yet grieving for the fate of their faithful animals that had been through so many privations with them, they encamped on the broad table below, where they found a spring of pure water and plenty of grass for their two remaining horses.

The next day as they were wending their way slowly along, they came to a range of walls so singular in their conformation as to make them pause in their journey to examine them. On a broad table, girt in on either side by the rocky fortresses of the Sierra, a column arose twenty feet long and sixteen wide at the base, diminishing as it rose to a height of thirty feet so as to leave the top eight by twelve feet in dimensions. This column was ascended by a flight of steps, regular and perfect in their construction. They were not long in ascertaining this to be a work of art, and perhaps for centuries on centuries it had stood there defying the elements, and was even now as solid and perfect, with every block of granite in its place, as when first laid.

"This is the work of the ancestors of the old man of Lake Superior," said Howe, thoughtfully.

"Perhaps the savages he told you of, whom he said inhabited the mountains built it," returned Jane.

"It was never built by a people destitute of the arts and sciences. Mark the accuracy with which each stone is made to fit its place, hewn and polished until it is as smooth as marble. Note also the cement in which it is laid, black and hard as glass, like that in which the temple was laid where we spent our first winter. No, no; depend upon it, a civilized people have been here centuries before our forefathers ever heard of this continent."

A cry of astonishment from Edward who had ascended to the summit, called their attention there also. Gaining the top, they found on the centre, raised on blocks of granite, a foot from the smooth floor, a heavy slab of granite six feet long and two wide and six inches thick, elaborately carved on the edges, the design being entwined serpents, the heads laying over the ends with closed mouths and open eyes. They were represented as being scaly, and each scale was chiseled with some strange device, all differing in shape and finish. On this slab lay a flint, the edges sharp, hollowed into a slightly oval form, being made into a sharp and thin scoop with the shape of a shell. By its side lay a stone mallet perfect also in its finish. With feelings of awe they left this memento of the unknown past, and pursued their journey.

The rest of the descent they found comparatively easy, and they were once more where birds sang and flowers bloomed, game roamed, and savages prowled. Making easy journeys, in a few days they hailed with joy a clearing which they saw was inhabited. The owner proved to be a Creole missionary from a Spanish settlement below, who had been stationed there to look after the spiritual welfare of the Indians, and who received our wanderers with great kindness. When they told him who and what they were, the benevolent curate, like a good christian, insisted they should make his domicil their home until they heard from their friends. This offer they gladly accepted; and in exchange for their gold which fascinated the pious man's eyes in a wonderful degree, they obtained some clothing, and when once more dressed in the garb of civilization, they began to think their wanderings were indeed over.

Chapter Twenty-Second.

Return to the family of Mr. Duncan. Lewis and his father succeed in getting back to camp. The effect the capture of the children produced on the health of Mr. and Mrs. Duncan. Cole and the chief reach the camp of the Arapahoes. Their surprise. They continue their course to Mr. Duncan's camp. Joy at the news they bring. They start again for the west. Thirty Arapahoes accompany them. They arrive at the Sierra Nevada.

Having followed our wanderers through many exceedingly trying and difficult scenes, since they became separated from the rest of the family and were lost in the deep and dreary desert, to the hospitable fireside of the curate beyond the Sierra Nevada where they again met with the comforts of civilized life, we will leave them for the present and return to the family of Mr. Duncan. The last we saw of Mr. Duncan and Lewis was in the battle with the Crows; but they succeeded in making their escape, and finally returned to their camp, only, however, to convey the sorrowful intelligence of the sad fate of all who had gone out to the rescue except himself and Lewis. This sad event confined him to a bed of sickness from which he arose after many weeks of suffering, with feeble and tottering steps, and locks whitened by suffering. Grief had done what time had not--it had made him old and grey.

Mrs. Duncan submitted meekly to the terrible blow; but the elasticity of her step was gone, the light from her eye, and the usual glad smile from her lips had disappeared. Had her children sickened and died, she could have laid them away in the grave, with the consoling thought, that all must lay there at last. But the harassing idea of the torture they would be subjected to, and the terrible death they must at last suffer, if indeed they still lived, was a constant source of agony to her.

"If I only knew that they were dead and at rest, I would be content; but, alas! I fear they still live!" she often said to herself, and then the throbbings of her heart would not be still. Poor mother! her thoughts made her life a torture of the deepest intensity.

Lewis would not believe they were dead, and had devoted the whole time of their absence in wandering from tribe to tribe, in his endeavors to gain some information of them. Once he heard there were some white persons captive in a distant Indian village, but he could not learn the name of the tribe, or in what part of the vast western wilds they were located. Twice he had been through to Oregon in hopes of obtaining a clue to their whereabouts, but heartsick had returned only to sink the already drooping spirits of his parents still lower. Mr. Duncan had removed his family farther east, where he would be less liable to be annoyed by hostile Indians, and there taking up his abode determined to await until he could learn the fate of his children.

Cole and the chief travelled with great rapidity. They were inured to hardship from infancy, and with nothing to impede their progress, sometimes riding, and sometimes walking, the fourth week out they came to the Arapahoe village in the evening just as the shades of night were drawing to the lodges, the men, women, and children who had scattered themselves during the day through the forest. The chieftain's eye kindled as the old familiar faces passed before him, and his breast heaved with pride us he read in their cheerful steps and careless ways the security and prosperity of his tribe. Cole and the chief were standing in the shadow of a large chesnut tree, which protected them from observation, but from which they saw all that was passing in the village without being seen. Gradually the Arapahoes seated themselves on the bank of a small stream in little groups, and then the chief saw who it was that had succeeded him in command--it was his best friend--the brave and good Eagle.

"Stay here, till I return," whispered the chief to Cole, and then folding his arms over his brawny chest, he walked with a proud step into their midst. Every tongue seemed to be paralyzed, every limb nerveless, as they, with horror depicted on their swarthy faces, saw him approaching.

At last one old man slowly arose and stretching his long bony hand toward him, said--"Does not our chief rest well in the spirit land, that he comes back to his people again? or does he come to warn us of danger?"

"The Arapahoes have forgotten their chief," said Whirlwind, bitterly.

"No, no: not forgotten him!" cried a young girl--his sister--bounding into the circle, and throwing herself, into his arms.

"The Singing-Bird does not forget," said the chief, holding her tightly in his embrace.

"We did not forget, but thought you dead!" they all cried, after fairly recovering from their panic. The Eagle was one of the first to give him a hearty welcome back, and as he did so, he laid his plume on the returned chieftain's head--thus resigning his title and authority.

"No, keep it yet for awhile," returned Whirlwind, "I must leave you for a time." He then explained the disasters that had befallen them, and, finally, his self-imposed duty in uniting the severed family.

The Indians never do a generous act by piecemeal. They are either warm friends or bitter enemies, knowing no medium between the two. They will lay down their lives to serve a friend, and murder a friend's enemy for the same reason, although they have never seen him before, and personally have no animosity towards him. The Arapahoes applauded the noble design of their chief, and furnished fresh horses to him and Cole, with which to accomplish the distance to the frontier, where Mr. Duncan and his companions were.

Mr. Duncan and family were seating themselves at their evening meal, as the two horseman halted at the door. A glance was sufficient to tell them one was a stranger, and the other--could it be?--was the Arapahoe chief, who was taken captive with his lost ones! They all with one impulse started for the door, but Mrs. Duncan, too overcome with anxiety, stood trembling, pale and speechless, leaning on a chair, from which she had just arisen. Mr. Duncan reached the door, but the words he would have spoken died on his lips, as Lewis bounded past him, and grasping the chiefs arm convulsively, cried--"Do _they_ live!--speak, if you would not see _them_ die!" pointing to his father and mother--"do they live?"

"All live!" said the chief; and as the words fell from his lips, a cry of joy and gladness resounded from the chastened hearts of the family. The certainty that the lost ones still lived, though they yet knew not where nor under what circumstances, roused their enervated energies, nerved their limbs and called back the healthful flush to the cheek, and the light of joy to their eyes.

"To be sure they are well," said Cole to their inquiries, "and we have come all the way from the Sierra Nevada mountains to bring you the news, and take you to them."

"Yes, yes; we will go. To-morrow we will be on the road to see them," said Mrs. Duncan.

"Not so fast as that," returned Cole; "I lost all my traps by the red-skins, and must collect some more. Besides, you need more preparation than could be made in that time, or you will fall into savage hands the second time."

"Let it be a week, then; we can be ready in that time," said Mr. Duncan. Their wanderings were recounted by Whirlwind, and when he had concluded, Mrs. Duncan's joy was nearly turned to sorrow, for fear they had not escaped the dangers of the Sierra. Accordingly, their arrangements were made to set out after a week's preparation. Mr. Duncan's equipments being nearly the same as those with which he had started two years before, when his journey was so unfortunately interrupted. Their destination now was somewhat different than what it was then; their only object being to recover their lost children. Cole had given such glowing descriptions of the country west of the Sierra that they thought it probable they should settle there; still, this was a minor consideration with them.

They reached the Arapahoe village in safety, where they found thirty of their warriors ready to accompany them as a guard. Their love and devotion to their chief prompted them to this disinterested act. They were all well mounted on half-tamed prairie horses,--their swarthy forms fantastically painted, and their heads and tunics adorned with shells, beads, and feathers, which gave them a wild, grotesque, but not unbecoming appearance. This was their gala costume, prepared after the most approved Indian style, and France never looked upon her sovereign with more pride when decked in his costliest regal vestments, than this tribe of savages did upon these thirty warriors, that the whole village had been laid under contribution to decorate in befitting pomp for this occasion. It is unnecessary to follow them minutely as they progressed in their journey. Suffice it that their guard protected them from the depredations of other Indians, and at the same time kept them supplied with meat and fish in abundance, cleared the path when obstructed, and daily rendered invaluable service to the emigrants. On reaching the Sierra, they were shown another pass by some Indians they met with, which was less dangerous, although farther over, and quite as toilsome in crossing.

Chapter Twenty-Third.

The Curate has become much attached to the Wanderers. Arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Duncan's family, accompanied by a number of Arapahoes. Whirlwind demands Jane in marriage. Duncan's feeling in the matter. Jane refuses and the Indians take their departure. The curate gives an account of the discoveries he made of a singular road, city, pyramid. The marriage of Jane and Sidney. Prosperous condition of Mr. Duncan's family. The lapse of twelve years. Change of their condition. Age whitens their locks. Conclusion.

We will go back again to the Pacific valley. The good curate had formed a strong attachment to our wanderers who had been so unceremoniously thrown upon his hospitality, and he held out such strong inducements for them to settle permanently there that Howe had taken some land, and by the aid of Indians whom the curate had partially civilized and taught to labor, cleared a few acres and built thereon a neat and convenient house for the reception of Mr. Duncan, whose arrival he was expecting daily.

Not long after this was completed, as they were all assembled on the porch, a troop of wild looking horsemen emerged from the forest, and galloped towards the house.

"It is a party out on a hunt," said the curate, "we have nothing to fear from them. They will no doubt give us a call, and then hasten away to the forest again."

Howe had been looking intently towards them from the first moment they came in sight, as if in doubts as to who and what they were. The approaching Indian's vision was keener than Howe's, for recognizing the trapper, Whirlwind's joyous shout rang in the air in a prolonged "_tu tu-la-la-lah_!"

"The chief! it is the chief!" cried Howe, recognizing the sound, "he has come to bring us joyful tidings."

"May it be so for your sakes," returned the curate, with apparent joy.

Approaching with their panting horses, the Indians were dismounted the next moment, and shaking hands with the little group; but, when the chief came to Jane, he caught her in his arms and gazed wistfully in her clear blue eyes.

"They are all safe and close at hand," said he speaking rapidly, anticipating her inquiry, "and I have come to claim the antelope. Will she not now go with her chief?"

"I cannot tell you yet; my mother! father! let me see them," cried the bewildered girl.

"They will be here very soon. The hill yonder is all that now hides them from view," replied the chief, releasing her from his embrace.

"We will go to meet them," said Sidney who, in gratitude to the chief for safely conducting his more than father and mother over the dreary wilds, forgot to evince jealousy at the embrace to which the chief had so unceremoniously treated himself.

"Yes, yes; let us go to meet them," responded Jane, eagerly.

"The white mother longs for her children," said the chief; "you shall go to meet her. The antelope can ride,--will you?" he continued, pointing to his horse, and before she had time to speak he caught her in his arms, and with the agility of a chamois, sprang on the horse's back, placing the half terrified girl before him, and then galloped away to the forest in the direction whence he came, with the rest, including the curate, following after them. Turning the curve of the hill, they came suddenly upon the emigrants, who at sight of their children, uttered an exclamation of joy, and ran forward, catching Jane who was the first to come up, from the chief's arms, and who, with a glad cry, sprang to meet a long embrace from her father and mother.

"Mother! father! Jane!" was all they could say, for their hearts were too full to speak.

"I come! father! mother--I come!" cried Edward, rushing into their arms, which were glad to hold him there again.

"Oh, God! I thank _Thee_, that _Thou_ hast restored me these lost ones!" cried the mother fervently, still holding her recovered children in her arms.

"Amen!" responded the curate, gently.

"Joy, for your arrival--joy for our escape and re-union," cried Sidney, returning the warm embrace with which he was greeted.

"These children make children of us," said Howe, shaking Mr. and Mrs. Duncan by the hand, while endeavoring to keep his joy at again seeing them in becoming bounds, for the children's volubility was becoming contagious.

Lewis, Martin, Annie, and Benjamin were not behind the rest in their greeting. Indeed they were extravagant in their joy.

The emigrants were now conducted to the dwelling prepared for them, which gave them a pleasant surprise, for they had not anticipated finding a house awaiting their arrival. The baggage was soon placed in it, and by nightfall they were fairly domiciled in their new home. Tired of being unsettled, Mr. Duncan, on examining the locality around him, determined to make himself a permanent home, much to the gratification of the curate, whose choice of society had been hitherto necessarily limited, as there were but few settlers within twenty miles of his station. Jones and Cole refused to take up their abode there. Visions of gold mines constantly haunted them, and after a week's delay they departed for their hidden treasure.

The chief now became impatient to return, and to the astonishment of all, and great indignation of Sidney, formally demanded of Mr. Duncan that he should give authority for him to marry Jane, in order that he might be on his journey back to his people. This demand was so extraordinary that the father did not know what to do, and sought Howe, to see if he could throw any light on this singular freak of the chief. A shade of sorrow settled on the brow of the trapper when Mr. Duncan told him his errand. "The chief," he remarked, "has been making love in his fashion to Jane ever since we have been away, greatly to the annoyance of Sidney, who looks upon her as if he thought no one had a right to make love to her but himself."

"How is it with Jane?" asked Mr. Duncan, anxiously.

"If I am not greatly deceived, she prefers the chief to Sidney. I am not certain of it, however. She was too guarded in her looks for me to ascertain positively."

"This is strange! What am I to do?"

"Not strange at all, Duncan," returned the trapper. "Do what is right, and all will be well enough."

"The question then is, what is right?"

"Not a hard one, by any means, to answer. If she prefers him, and he will abandon his savage habits, live and be civilized like other people, let her take him by all means. He is a noble, generous fellow, and we are under great obligations to him, and common gratitude demands from us any consistent return."

"But this mixing of the races!--I must acknowledge I can but feel a repugnance to it; but we will see what Jane says, and leave it all to her."