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Updated: May 7, 2025
Eliza Striker, hardy frontierswoman though she was, put her fingers to her ears and shrank away from the stove, for she had been taught that all metal "drew lightning."
More than once, when a cabin was attacked in the absence or after the death of the men, some brawny frontierswoman, accustomed to danger and violent physical exertion, and favored by peculiar circumstances, herself beat off the assailants. Prowess of Frontier Women. In one such case, two or three families were living together in a block-house.
Her hands, vibrating over her work with little hovering movements like birds about to light, now and then flashing out a needle which she stabbed into her coiffure, were large-boned and dexterous, the strong, unresting hands of the frontierswoman. Susan was lazy, leaning back on the up-piled sacks, watching the quick, competent movements and the darts of light that leaped along the needles.
She now rapidly was becoming a good frontierswoman and thoughtful of her locomotive power. Taking the direction of the cattle herd, she drove from camp a mile or two, resolving to hobble and watch her mules while they grazed close to the cattle guards. She was alone. Around her, untouched by any civilization, lay a wild, free world.
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