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Updated: June 19, 2025
"We are from Lee County, Illinois," replied Mr. Bryant. "We came in by the way of Parkville, too, a day or two ago; but we stopped at Quindaro. Did you come direct from Parkville?" "Yes," replied the man.
In this serious dilemma, Charlie came to the relief of the party with the information that a free-State man, whose team had just recrossed the river for a load of supplies sent him by a wagon that was to return to Iowa, brought news that a large trading-post had been opened at a new Kansas town called Quindaro.
He said that the Iowa man told him that prices were just now lower in Quindaro than they had ever been in Parkville. "Quindaro?" said Oscar, musingly; "why, that must be an Indian name, feminine Indian name, too, unless I miss my guess." Mr. Bryant had heard of Quindaro.
I saw some of these very men come riding in from Missouri, when we were one day out of Quindaro." As he spoke, John Clark had reached the voting-place, pursued by many rough epithets flung after him. He paused before the half-barricaded door and presented his ballot. "Let's see yer ticket!" shouted one of the men who stood guard, one either side of the cabin-door.
That night, however, when they were comfortably and safely camped in Quindaro, amid the live-oaks and the tall sycamores that embowered the pretty little town, Oscar again brought the newspaper to his father, and, with kindling eyes, said, "Read it out, daddy; read the piece. Why, it was written just for us, I do declare. It is called 'The Kansas Emigrants. We are Kansas Emigrants, aren't we?"
So saying, he was off to the land of dreams. Quindaro was a straggling but pretty little town built among the groves of the west bank of the Missouri. Here the emigrants found a store or trading-post, well supplied with the goods they needed, staple articles of food and the heavier farming-tools being the first required.
See, she's just going into the post-office now." "Quindaro!" exclaimed Sandy. "Why, I thought Quindaro was a squaw." "She's a full-blooded Delaware Indian girl, that's what she is, and she was educated somewhere East in the States; and this town is named for her. She owns all the land around here, and is the belle of the place." "She's got on hoop-skirts, too," said Oscar.
It was a brand-new town, a few miles down the river, settled by free-State men and named for a young, full-blooded Indian girl of the Delaware tribe. The town was on the borders of the Delaware reservation, which in those days came close to the Missouri River. Charlie, also, had gathered some facts about the town, and he added that Quindaro was a good place to start from, going westward.
All this information came out reluctantly, and with as little use of vital breath as possible. When they had moved on out of earshot, Oscar expressed his decided opinion that that settler was no more like James Fenimore Cooper's Indians than the lovely Quindaro appeared to be. "Why, did you notice, father," he continued, "that he actually had on high-heeled boots? Think of that!
Halford, the landlady of the Garno House, of my errand, she was much pleased, and said that her duties forbade her to assist me, but she would do her part in giving me a welcome home while in their town. She introduced me to a family of benevolent ladies, who promised to aid me in my investigations, but did not think I would find the suffering in their city that I found in Quindaro.
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