A Hundred Years of Rip and Roarin Rough and Ready By Andy Rogers (1952)(Hathitrust) (117 pages)

} ee The bob-whites of the second or third generation, (I don't know how to count bobwhite generations,) sang in the corn and in the grave yard. The fire-flies flitted over the soft speaking Wapse, and the surrounding piace, where our house had been. The home father end mother began so hopefully, was as if it never had been. On a Sunday morning, early in February, 1854, the wagon train started. Everyone attended the church of his choice. Colonel Woodruff, the leader of the expedition, prayed for its success and safety. The relatives left behind by all, were sad and apprehensive for the safety of the emigrants. A number of forts along the way had almost stopped the Indian depredations, but there was always a chance that they would fall upon a wagon train at some distance froma fort. Other relatives and friends, especially the young people, were envious of the chance of adventure. The gold craze had subsided somewhat, but there was still those who were lured by the quest for gold, as old as time. The expedition proceeded uneventfully through level fertile fields to the wild unsettled prairie, beautiful beyond description. One bright Sunday morning, fore-shadowed two events one a tragedy which took place late in the evening. We were camped about six miles from Nebraska; we were in Indian country, but being so near the fort, precluded any fear on our part. Jim Lunn and his bride, Ann, were part of us. Perhaps, not strangely, Jim was infatuated with homely, cross-eyed, gaunt 4nn. The wagons were stretching out lengthwise, for about a quarter of a mile, to give the women space to wash, as a spring of abundant water was at hand. We all wanted rest, a3 well as the oxen; cows and horses, who also needed the fresh grass of the prairie. Sunday had been declared a day of rest as long as we travelled on schedule and were sure of crossing the Sierra Nevada before the severe storms to come, we would continue the custom. Ann had disappeared. Jim ran along the train, tears streaming down his face, shouting, “Ann-Ann-so young and handsome. Injuns got her. Ann was found visiting at the extreme end of the line. In spite of Jim's devotion, she looked disgusted when Jim sat down and cried, however, her heart prompted her to kiss him, and call him her deur boy. Father drove the slow plodding oxen, attached to the prairie schooner. Mother drove the mares alternatively hitched to the lighter wagon. This morning before cemping, she had driven Maze and Toffee, we children rode the horses at accepted times. The slow rate of travel irked the high spirited creatures, and it was necessary to give them more exercise. William Thomas and I rode over.the beautiful flowered prairie. Our horses were Blue, Mollie, Jinmy and Kit, whose turn it was. We were shortly joined by a handsone, well mounted Brave; he talked well and look-~ ed at me admiringly. The boys galloped on ahead. I was young, had high color, and large brown eyes. The Indian said, "Me like you -You be my squaw?® I was astounded, and’ said quickly, "I like you too, but I have Google 60 a man." He looked slightly disappointed, and tried again. "NOQ-leave um for Ponto." "No," I said, as regretfully as I could. manage. "Call your boys," he said anxiously. I whistled the shrill call we always used, ahd in a few minutes, back they came. Ponto said, “Indian raid tonight. Tell un get ready,” and rode rapidly away, over the rolling prairie. . We discussed what to do, William stayed with me while Thomas rode to camp. We followed at a more slowly pace, but fast enough to cause the interesting little prairie dogs to bob in and out of their homes, as if astonished at our hurry. Colonel Woodruff was hard to convince of the truth of the story Thomas told him. He was still undecided what to do, then William and I rode up and corroborated Thomas' story. Two scouts were sent out to watch tke Indians from a distance; another \ scout sent to ask the soldiers to be ready. He then returned to carry back word if the raid came about. The wagons were formed in a circle. Old men, women and children were told what to do. Guns were loaded, ammunition ready and handy. The young boys who could be spared, were to load, while the rest fired the guns. A few other women were to load while the rest fired the guns. A few other women and mother were elected to shoot. Mother was to stand besides father, she was an excellent shot, had practiced long, and had acquired greater proficiency by killing wolves and coyotes along the way. The long day drew to an end. One scout returned to say the Indians were performing their war dancewhich might mean nothing. War dances, we were told, frequently were held in defiance of the white men. The other scout waited for further developments. The wagons were formed into a more compact circle. Guns in hand, the men and women waited. I loaded for mother, Thomas and William, for father, and the next man in the circle. Darkness came when the watching scout returned. The Indians were coming -The other scout left, his horse running its most rapid pace to bring soldiers. The Indians came on a run, circling the wagons as always, Colonel Woodruff had warned us to shoot carefully. At every bust of gun-fire, Indians fell. Mother never missed a shot; her face was set, white implacable. The Indians circled but three times when the troops, who were. ready and waiting, arrived. The Indians fled, pursued by the “ soldiers, who practically exterminated them ‘ all. When the wagons straightened out, father stumbled over a small body, in horror and 1 amazement, he saw, when he carried the limp little figure into the firelight, it was Jonathan. He was alive. He was alive and his little arms circled father's neck, as he gasped, “Father, I killed two Indians." "My brave boy," said father. The little arns dropped and he breathed no more. The arrow had pierced near the heart. The little fel‘low must have seized an extra gun, which lay near his body, crept under father's wagon unnoticed, and fully exposed. t We left the Indians unburied. . Two unmarried men were killed also, that was all. But for Ponto's warning, who knows . what the results might have been.

} ee The bob-whites of the second or third generation, (I don't know how to count bobwhite generations,) sang in the corn and in the grave yard. The fire-flies flitted over the soft speaking Wapse, and the surrounding piace, where our house had been. The home father end mother began so hopefully, was as if it never had been. On a Sunday morning, early in February, 1854, the wagon train started. Everyone attended the church of his choice. Colonel Woodruff, the leader of the expedition, prayed for its success and safety. The relatives left behind by all, were sad and apprehensive for the safety of the emigrants. A number of forts along the way had almost stopped the Indian depredations, but there was always a chance that they would fall upon a wagon train at some distance froma fort. Other relatives and friends, especially the young people, were envious of the chance of adventure. The gold craze had subsided somewhat, but there was still those who were lured by the quest for gold, as old as time. The expedition proceeded uneventfully through level fertile fields to the wild unsettled prairie, beautiful beyond description. One bright Sunday morning, fore-shadowed two events one a tragedy which took place late in the evening. We were camped about six miles from Nebraska; we were in Indian country, but being so near the fort, precluded any fear on our part. Jim Lunn and his bride, Ann, were part of us. Perhaps, not strangely, Jim was infatuated with homely, cross-eyed, gaunt 4nn. The wagons were stretching out lengthwise, for about a quarter of a mile, to give the women space to wash, as a spring of abundant water was at hand. We all wanted rest, a3 well as the oxen; cows and horses, who also needed the fresh grass of the prairie. Sunday had been declared a day of rest as long as we travelled on schedule and were sure of crossing the Sierra Nevada before the severe storms to come, we would continue the custom. Ann had disappeared. Jim ran along the train, tears streaming down his face, shouting, “Ann-Ann-so young and handsome. Injuns got her. Ann was found visiting at the extreme end of the line. In spite of Jim's devotion, she looked disgusted when Jim sat down and cried, however, her heart prompted her to kiss him, and call him her deur boy. Father drove the slow plodding oxen, attached to the prairie schooner. Mother drove the mares alternatively hitched to the lighter wagon. This morning before cemping, she had driven Maze and Toffee, we children rode the horses at accepted times. The slow rate of travel irked the high spirited creatures, and it was necessary to give them more exercise. William Thomas and I rode over.the beautiful flowered prairie. Our horses were Blue, Mollie, Jinmy and Kit, whose turn it was. We were shortly joined by a handsone, well mounted Brave; he talked well and look-~ ed at me admiringly. The boys galloped on ahead. I was young, had high color, and large brown eyes. The Indian said, "Me like you -You be my squaw?® I was astounded, and’ said quickly, "I like you too, but I have Google 60

a man." He looked slightly disappointed, and tried again. "NOQ-leave um for Ponto." "No," I said, as regretfully as I could. manage. "Call your boys," he said anxiously. I whistled the shrill call we always used, ahd in a few minutes, back they came. Ponto said, “Indian raid tonight. Tell un get ready,” and rode rapidly away, over the rolling prairie. . We discussed what to do, William stayed with me while Thomas rode to camp. We followed at a more slowly pace, but fast enough to cause the interesting little prairie dogs to bob in and out of their homes, as if astonished at our hurry. Colonel Woodruff was hard to convince of the truth of the story Thomas told him. He was still undecided what to do, then William and I rode up and corroborated Thomas' story. Two scouts were sent out to watch tke Indians from a distance; another \ scout sent to ask the soldiers to be ready. He then returned to carry back word if the raid came about. The wagons were formed in a circle. Old men, women and children were told what to do. Guns were loaded, ammunition ready and handy. The young boys who could be spared, were to load, while the rest fired the guns. A few other women were to load while the rest fired the guns. A few other women and mother were elected to shoot. Mother was to stand besides father, she was an excellent shot, had practiced long, and had acquired greater proficiency by killing wolves and coyotes along the way. The long day drew to an end. One scout returned to say the Indians were performing their war dancewhich might mean nothing. War dances, we were told, frequently were held in defiance of the white men. The other scout waited for further developments. The wagons were formed into a more compact circle. Guns in hand, the men and women waited. I loaded for mother, Thomas and William, for father, and the next man in the circle. Darkness came when the watching scout returned. The Indians were coming -The other scout left, his horse running its most rapid pace to bring soldiers. The Indians came on a run, circling the wagons as always, Colonel Woodruff had warned us to shoot carefully. At every bust of gun-fire, Indians fell. Mother never missed a shot; her face was set, white implacable. The Indians circled but three times when the troops, who were. ready and waiting, arrived. The Indians fled, pursued by the “ soldiers, who practically exterminated them ‘ all. When the wagons straightened out, father stumbled over a small body, in horror and 1 amazement, he saw, when he carried the limp little figure into the firelight, it was Jonathan. He was alive. He was alive and his little arms circled father's neck, as he gasped, “Father, I killed two Indians." "My brave boy," said father. The little arns dropped and he breathed no more. The arrow had pierced near the heart. The little fel‘low must have seized an extra gun, which lay near his body, crept under father's wagon unnoticed, and fully exposed. t We left the Indians unburied. . Two unmarried men were killed also, that was all. But for Ponto's warning, who knows . what the results might have been.