I must interpolate a word here, in passing, descriptive of this daughter,—the worthy heroine of the event, as we shall see. She was a light-haired, blond-complexioned young girl, with all the proverbial German fairness,—bright and handsome as a prairie flower. And she had the German habit of taking a share in the work in the open field. Often was she seen by the passers up and down the creek, "chopping in corn" (as they call it in the West),—keeping even step in the row with her robust brother; or now driving the cattle while he held the plough; then changing work with him, guiding the share while he drove the oxen.
Her household duties, however, were not neglected meanwhile. Doubtless the brother, in return, here gave her a helping hand. Nowhere else on the road (as the writer can testify from personal experience) did the weary and hungry traveler find such bread as when thrown upon the Keplers' hospitality,—bread of this young girl's manufacture.
Besides all this,—and appropriately to be said in this connection,—this fair maiden could handle a rifle on occasion, as we shall presently see. Such ability was often a quite useful accomplishment for the gentler sex on our wild Western border. It proved eminently so in the case before us.
The yelling, hooting, and now drunken mob began at length to fire upon the cabin at its vulnerable points. The heroic inmates returned the shots through the holes between the logs in the loft, and not without effect. One of the assailants was seriously wounded and several others less so. The battle grew warm, the effusion of blood thus far serving only to increase the wild fury of the besiegers.
The father and son stood with their guns at the openings, while the young girl loaded the pieces for them as fast as they were emptied. At length the baffled and maddened crowd changed their tactics. They managed to pile wood, logs, and rubbish against the cabin, hoping to fire the building. There was danger that the dastardly effort would prove only too successful. The flames began to crackle. All now seemed lost, when suddenly the brave daughter unbarred the cabin door and sprang forth with a bucket of water in her hand to dash out the newly kindled flames. This was done from the girl's own impulse at the moment. Had they divined her intention, the father and brother would not have allowed it. The feat, however, strange to say, was as successful as it was heroic and perilous.
The surprised besiegers were not actually cowardly and base enough to fire upon the unarmed, defenseless girl. However, one of them sprang from his covert behind a tree to seize her. But the old backwoodsman father, watching breathlessly the scene below from his post in the loft,—his hand and eye steadied to perfect accuracy by the imminent danger,—sent a rifle-bullet straight to the heart of the venturesome wretch, and he fell forward dead at the maiden's feet.
The girl regained the door and, with the aid of her brother, who hastened to her assistance, rebarred it securely. All was now again safe for the time being,—and permanently, as it proved. The marauders, overawed by this episode and by the generally unexpected course of affairs,—one of their number being actually killed and several others more or less severely wounded,—hastily fell back to a safe distance and finally beat a retreat from the neighborhood.
