Soon after sunrise we took our way down the river, intending to reach the Sydney farm on the following day, and there spend the necessary time in preparing our specimens for immediate shipment when we should arrive at Solomon City. The Professor made desperate efforts to appear entirely wrapped up in science, and his devotion to geology was something wonderful. Hitherto he had been inclined to urge us forward, but now he made a show of holding us back. Did he do so with a knowledge that our necessities for food and forage would be sufficient spur, and was he simply shielding his weak side from Sachem's attacks?
We had proceeded but a few miles on our journey, when the guide rode back, and reported fresh pony tracks across the road ahead of us. This was an unquestionable Indian sign, but as the trail seemed to be leading north, we took no precaution; our route was over a high divide, where ambushing was impossible.
Approaching Limestone Creek, the road wound down the face of a precipitous bluff, into the valley below. We had just commenced the descent, when the now familiar cry of "Injuns!" came back from the men in front, and following closely on the cry we heard the echoing report of firearms. We looked in the direction of the sound, and saw close to the trees an emigrant wagon, while beyond it, but at fully one hundred yards' distance, four or five Indians were riding back and forth in semi-circles, and firing pistols. The emigrant stood beside his oxen, with rifle in readiness, but apparently reserving his fire.
"That man knows his biz!" exclaimed our guide, as he urged the teams forward, that we might afford rescue. "Injuns never bump up agin a loaded gun."
A gleam of calico was visible in the wagon, and another rifle barrel, held by female hands, seemed peering out in front. The general aspect of the assailed outfit reminded us strongly of the Sydney family, and suspicion was strengthened by a very unscientific yell from the Professor, as he started off at break-neck speed down the bluff for a rescue, with no other weapon whatever in his hand than a small hammer he had just been using for breaking stones. Mr. Colon seemed equally demented, following close upon Paleozoic's heels with a bug-net. Shamus, at the moment, happened to be astride his donkey, and giving an Irish war-whoop which reached even to the scene of combat, straightway charged over the limestone ledges in a cloud of white dust. Our appearance upon the scene was a surprise to Lo. The Indians stood not upon the order of their going, but "lit out on the double-quick," as our guide expressed it, and were soon out of sight.
We found that the emigrants were named Burns, the family comprising the parents and their two children. The man stated that he had no fear of the savages. He had been twice across the plains, and made it a rule never to throw a shot away. "If they can draw your fire," said he, "the fellows will charge. But they don't want to look into a loaded gun." Mrs. Burns had come to her husband's rescue with an expedient worthy the wife of a frontiersman. Having no gun, she pointed from under the canvass the handle of a broom. This, being woman's favorite weapon, was handled so skillfully that the savages imagined it another rifle. In our log-book she was chronicled at once as fully the equal of that revolutionary hero, who one evening made prisoner of a British officer, by crooking an American sausage into the semblance of a pistol, and presenting it at the Englishman's breast.
There were two of our party who did not rejoice as they should have done, after rendering such timely aid to the Burns family. How romantic had the rescued party only proved to be the one which was at first suspected!
Where this little scene occurred, there are homesteads now, which will soon develop into thrifty farms. The blessing of a railroad can not be long deferred. A year, a month, even a week sometimes, makes wonderful changes in Buffalo Land, when the tide of immigration is rolling forward upon it. Before the present year is ended, the beautiful valley of Limestone Creek will be teeming with civilized life, and the savage red man, there is good reason to believe, has departed from it forever.
After bidding the Burns family good-bye, we traveled without further adventure until near noon, when the guide rode back, and directed our attention to some elk, which he pointed out, some distance ahead. The bodies of the herd were hidden by a ridge, but above its brown line we could plainly see their great antlers, looking like the branches of trees, moving slowly along. There was but one method of getting near the game, and that was immediately adopted. Up the side of the sloping ridge we carefully crawled, and, reaching the summit, peeped over. Half a dozen big antlered fellows, and as many does, were feeding along the slope below. Only one of them, a splendid male, was within shooting distance at all, and even for it the range was long. The guide and Muggs fired together, breaking the poor creature's shoulder.
What a startled stare the noble animals flashed back at the crack of the rifles, and how quickly they disappeared. Their trot was perfectly grand—great, firm strokes which seemed to fairly fling the bodies onward. We had hardly time to realize having fired, when their tails bade us distant adieu. It is said that no horse can keep up with the trot of the elk. If charged upon suddenly, however, from close quarters, he is frightened into an awkward gallop, and may then be overtaken easily.