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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Did war parties ever go out on this trail, do you suppose?" asked Sandy, sitting up in the grass. "Sakes alive, yes!" replied Younkins. "Why, the Cheyennes and the Comanches used to roam over all these plains, in the old times, and they were mostly at war." "Where are the Cheyennes and the Comanches now, Mr. Younkins?" asked Uncle Aleck.
Gradually his sense of security came back to him, and, exulting in his safety, he raised his gun, and muttering under his breath, "Right behind the fore-shoulder-like, Younkins said," he took steady aim and fired. A young buffalo bull tumbled headlong down the ravine.
The first game of the day was brought down by Younkins, who was the "guide, philosopher, and friend" of the party, and Oscar, the youngest of them all, slew the second. The honor of bringing down the third and last was Uncle Aleck's. When he had killed his game, he was anxious to get home as soon as possible, somewhat to the amusement of the others, who rallied him on his selfishness.
The boys were proud of the ample supply which their elders had brought with them; for even the knowing Younkins, scrutinizing the tools for woodcraft with a critical eye, remarked, "That's a good outfit, for a party of green settlers." Six stout wedges of chilled iron, and a heavy maul to hammer them with, were to be used for the splitting up of the big trees into smaller sections.
The land open to the settlers on the south side of the Republican Fork was all before them. Nothing had been taken up within a distance as far as they could see. Chapman's Creek, just referred to by Younkins, was eighteen or twenty miles away.
Could it be possible that anybody could raise melons so thickly together as Mr. Younkins had said he had seen them? Mr.
A party of the creatures were busy at the offal from the slain buffalo, just without the range of the firelight, for the camp-fire had been kept alight. Into the struggling, snarling group Younkins discharged his rifle. There was a sharp yell of pain, a confused patter of hurrying feet, and in an instant all was still. Sandy started up.
They had often marvelled to see how easily and unerringly he found his way through woods, streams, and over prairies; now he showed them another gift. He was a "natural-born doctor," as his wife proudly said of him. "No turkey for supper to-night," said Younkins, as he picked up his shot-gun and returned with the boys to the cabin.
"For," he added, roguishly, "you know we have come to make the West, 'as they the East, the homestead of the free." Mr. Younkins looked puzzled, but made no remark. The younger boys, after taking in the situation and fondly inspecting every detail of the premises, enthusiastically agreed that nothing could be finer than this.
Howell firmly held the plough-handles; Younkins drove the two forward yoke of cattle, and Mr. Bryant the second two; and the two younger boys stood ready to hurrah as soon as the word was given to start. It was an impressive moment to the youngsters. "Gee up!" shouted Younkins, as mildly as if the oxen were petted children.
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