Part 9

Crossing a broad plateau they drove up a gentle incline, and just as the blazing sun was sinking below the horizon there opened before their view a beautiful valley with waving green grass, welcoming trees and flower-strewn glades, and a blue, sparkling river with rock-strewn shady banks flowing swiftly over a rocky bottom, and long lines of timber stretching away to the north and south.

For a moment the travelers stood transfixed, as if the very gates of heaven had opened before them. Then Ruth, with a little gasping breath, cried out:

"Oh, Mother, Mother, isn't it _beautiful_! It looks so green, so fresh, so _lovely_--as if God had just finished it!"

And indeed the fair green land, with no mar of civilization upon it, with its fresh virginal beauty untouched and unspoiled by the hand of man, did look as if newly created.

The tired beasts had sniffed the fragrance of the water and with pricked ears were pushing eagerly forward.

"_What a camping-place!_" shouted Joe, springing eagerly down as the wagons were drawn up in the shade of the trees. "Come, Mother, jump down and come take a look at this river! Cricky, we haven't seen anything like this since we left Ohio. This water isn't red or brown or dirty, it's just what its name calls it--_blue!_"

It didn't take many moments for the tired, thirsty party to scramble out of the wagons and race down to the river, where their thirst was soon quenched by water that was cold, sweet, and free from the alkali which had made the water they had been drinking ever since they entered the Territory almost unbearable to them.

How welcome after the parching heat of the prairies was this cool, green, quiet place! How restful was the ripple of the water, the rustle of the willow and cottonwood trees, the caress of the long, soft grass!

While Mr. Peniman, Joe and Lige were getting the exhausted horses out of their harness and leading them down to drink, Ruth and Sam untied the cow, that manifested almost as much joy in the prospect of grass and shade and water as did the rest of the family.

They all threw themselves down under the trees too worn out and exhausted from the heat, too grateful for the blessed relief, to even explore this Paradise in the desert.

Slowly the fiery globe of the sun sank below the horizon, slowly a pink and purple splendor spread over the evening sky. A hawk flew by, wheeling majestically through the intensely blue dome. Joshua Peniman knelt upon the grass. "Let us thank God," he said in a low, reverent voice, "who has led us through the perils of the day and brought us to this His holy temple to-night."

That night while the others slept Hannah Peniman sat long on the banks of the Minne-to-wauk-pala, her eyes fastened upon its blue waters, her thoughts busy with many things.

When they arose the next morning she laid her hand upon her husband's arm.

"Come down to the river with me, Joshua," she said. "I want to talk to you."

She led him to the wide flat rock upon which she had sat and thought the night before, and sitting down beside him took his hand.

"Isn't it a heavenly place?" she sighed.

"It is indeed. We could have found no lovelier to make our camp."

"Our _home_, Joshua."

"Our _home?_" He turned quickly and looked at her.

"Yes, dear, our home. I came here last night after you had all gone to bed and communed long with God. I feel that it is His hand that led us here. Why go farther into the wilderness, dear heart? Why brave farther the perils of heat and drought and physical suffering? Here we have timber, water, grass for our cow and horses, shade and protection for ourselves, good land, apparently everything that we need to make our new home. Why go any farther? Why not call our journey ended and locate right here?"

Joshua Peniman stared at her in amazement.

"Thee has taken me completely by surprise, Hannah!" he said after a blank silence. "I had never thought of such a thing. Thee knows that from the first our plan was to go to the Niobrara----"

"But why go to the Niobrara? Why not locate right here on the Blue?" she answered with a little laugh. "Isn't it just as good? There appears to be land enough around here, heaven knows!"

He sat silent for some moments turning the matter over in his mind. The thought of stopping where they were had never occurred to him. Weary though they were, and suffering from heat and long journeying, he had never once wavered in his purpose of crossing the Territory to its northwestern side, to the lands which had been recommended to him between the Elkhorn and the Niobrara Rivers.

With thoughtful face he cast a slow appraising glance all about him.

"Ye-es," he said musingly, "that is all true. There is plenty of land about here--I do not believe there is a human creature within twenty or thirty miles of this place. The country lies well, and by the looks of the soil the land should be good. There is shade, and wood, and water--three absolute essentials to the comfort and safety of the settler, and an inestimable blessing in this barren country. There is timber along the creeks--a settler must have timber--and along the bottom land over there we would have good forage for the horses. The land that I was making for on the Niobrara----"

"--Is probably not a bit better than this," urged Mrs. Peniman. "And, Joshua, look at the horses, look at that poor cow! Think of the many, many weary miles we should have to travel over those desolate burning plains before we got there! It is now the middle of August--the hottest part of the summer--does it not seem like tempting Providence to strike out across the prairies again with our teams in the condition they are?"

Joshua Peniman was silent, thinking intently. Presently he rose and walked up and down the banks of the river, then out toward the plateau, where he stood for a long time, his eyes turning in a keen, critical survey in every direction.

Presently he returned to the rock upon which his wife was sitting.

"Thee has a long head, Hannah," he said, falling into the old Quaker form of speech which he often used when they were alone or when he was deeply stirred; "and I will not say that thee is not in the right of it. But this is a serious matter. We have gone far and sacrificed much to make our home in this new country, and we must not make a mistake now. Let us stop here to-day and think it over. I will go out and look the land about here over carefully, and I feel that we should consult with the children. For you and me the time in this new land will not be so long, but for them it is their whole lives and the happiness and prosperity of their future. I feel that they should have their say about our location. Does thee not agree with me?"

"I do indeed. That is best. Let us stay here to-day, rest, think, pray to God for wisdom, and look the ground over carefully with a view to our permanent location. And let us have a family consultation after prayers."

When the boys tumbled out of bed for an early swim before hitching up their teams for the start, they were astonished to find their father walking thoughtfully up and down on the bank of the river and none of the usual active preparations for the day's travel under way.

"We have decided to take a day off to rest, lads," he told them gravely. "This is going to be a very hot day, and both we and the horses need it. Will thee enjoy having a day here by the river?"

"Will we?" shouted Joe, who was beginning to be sadly weary of the hot, dusty days on the monotonous prairies. "I should say we would! This is such a lovely place I hate to leave it."

As they all darted off for their swim, followed nimbly by Ruth and Nina in calico wrappers, Joshua Peniman looked about him. Down in the bottoms the horses, turned out to enjoy their well-earned rest, were cropping the sweet short grass along the stream, the cow lying down in a bed of wild clover chewing her cud and exhaling long sighs of contentment, and under the shade of the trees Sara and David and Mary were playing, with the collie lolling with tongue out beside them, while the two little pigs that had traveled all the long journey in their box at the back of the wagon had been turned loose in a pen made of loose boards, and were tranquilly grunting their appreciation.

The table was spread on the long, soft grass, and about it moved Mrs. Peniman, humming softly to herself as she prepared the breakfast. The scene was a peaceful and pleasant one, and Joshua Peniman looked long and earnestly upon it, weighing and judging and trying to make up his mind.

When the morning chapter had been read and the silent prayer over, he turned to his family.

"Children," he said, "thy mother and I have been having a grave discussion this morning. We have called thee into our council because we believe that each of thee should have a voice in a decision that will so materially affect all thy after lives."

The young people looked at him with startled faces. What could this decision be that so materially affected them? That made father look so grave, and mother so eager?

"Thy mother thinks," their father continued, "that perhaps it would be well to change our plans, give up the idea of going any farther west, and stay here."

"_Stay here?_" The words were shouted in a chorus.

"What, _locate_ here? Take up land--make this our home?" cried Joe.

"Exactly. We have been going over its possibilities as a future home this morning, and I must admit that I am much impressed with them. We have water here, shade, timber, grass for pasture, the land appears rich and the soil deep, and of course there is no scarcity of land about here for homesteading. Now, as you will have to live your lives and make your future in this new country, we want to know what you all think about it."

The discussion that followed was eager, enthusiastic and noisy, but the general consensus of opinion was one of hearty approval of the plan. The children were all tired of the journey, and the prospect of having that journey definitely ended, of remaining here in the green and pleasant place was one that appealed to them all.

The day was spent in going over the land, laying out in fancy where the house should stand, where corn and wheat and oats and potatoes should be put in, where the barn should be built, and the fruit trees set out, and the vegetable garden planted.

About half a mile above the point at which their camp had been made they came upon a piece of ground that sloped gently down to the river, with a broad, level expanse to the south of it that appealed to Mr. Peniman's practical mind as fine farming land. Nearer the river was a grove of cottonwood trees, and in a fern-lined hollow beneath the bank an ice-cold spring of sweet water.

"Here shall be the place for the house!" cried Mrs. Peniman, her eyes sparkling. "What could be lovelier? Where could we find anything finer if we searched the whole Territory of Nebraska? Here we would have shade, water, shelter from the wind, a spring, and a world of good farming land all about us!"

"That field over there has a southern exposure and would be fine for corn," mused Mr. Peniman. "We could sow oats and wheat over there on the plateau, that point running down to the river would make good pasture-land----"

"And we could build a little spring-house over the creek down there in that little bend," cried Mrs. Peniman, still absorbed in her household plans.

"Yes," said Joshua Peniman, thoughtfully knitting his heavy brows, "I believe that it would do--I believe that it would do well. But to make sure that we are all accord in this important matter we will take a vote. Think now, my children, for upon your decision this morning may rest the beginnings of a colony--a town--a city--perhaps, the beginning of civilization in this part of the Territory. The place where you will probably all carve out your futures, and where, I hope, you will leave your mark upon the civilization of the West."

For a moment there was a solemn pause. Youthful as they were the young Penimans were impressed with the thought that upon the decision of that moment the environment of their whole after lives might depend.

"Are you ready?" asked Joshua Peniman. Then, "As many as favor remaining here and locating our new home upon the Blue River hold up your right hand."

"Am I to vote, too?" queried Nina timidly.

"To be sure, my child. You are one of us. We look upon you now as one of our own children," answered Mr. Peniman kindly.

When the vote was put every hand went up.

"It seems to be a unanimous decision," he smiled. "Then this spot shall be our future home. Here let us kneel and ask God's blessing upon it."

On the green grass by the river the little colony knelt down, and the father's voice went up in earnest supplication for heavenly protection for the new home. Overhead the trees whispered softly, and the river mingled with the earnest voices when they uttered a fervent "Amen."

*CHAPTER XV*

*BUILDING THE SOD HOUSE*

The Peniman family spent that evening sitting on the banks of the Minne-to-wauk-pala, feeling no longer like homeless wanderers, but as those who after long tribulation have come into their own.

The whole family were in high spirits, and their camp that night was made with more comfort and permanence than any camp they had yet had.

Four young saplings were dragged out of the dead timber along the stream, and cut into lengths of the proper height for a table, and these were driven firmly into the ground. Upon them Joe nailed a few saplings crosswise, and over these was fastened a strong piece of canvas. Upon this canvas the children piled wet sand from the river bottom, patting it down and making a firm, level surface. When it was dry the oil-cloth was tacked over it, making an excellent substitute for a "boughten" table. Stakes were driven into the ground on either side of the table and more fallen saplings nailed upon them, and when the family sat down to their evening meal it was once more at a table with comfortable seats and a place to enjoy their meal without the discomfort of cramped legs or the disturbing inroads of bugs and ants.

In the shade near by they drove stakes in the ground (always taking care to select only dead and broken timber, for a tree had become too rare and precious a thing for them to sacrifice willingly), and over it they stretched a tarpaulin, making a shelter to serve as a kitchen. Joe and Lige constructed a fireplace and oven near by of small round stones from the bed of the stream, and fixed a firm and level place on a rock to set up the stove. Around it they nailed small boxes and receptacles for the cooking utensils, and set two packing-cases on end with a calico curtain before them to serve as a china-closet, and Mrs. Peniman speedily emptied a packing-case and set it up in the improvised kitchen to use as a kitchen table.

"It will take some time to build our house," she said brightly as she hurried about getting her new cooking-place in order, "and we might as well be as comfortable as we can until it is done."

The family, tired enough of living in the cramped space of the wagons, readily agreed to this, and the next day was spent unloading the wagons, unpacking boxes, and making their temporary home as comfortable and convenient as possible.

When the comfort of the family had been looked after Mr. Peniman turned his attention to the animals.

The little pigs had grown and thriven so, even under the hard conditions that had beset the rest of the travelers, that they were now entirely too big for their box, and squealed their protest continually.

They had long ago outgrown the necessity of bottle-feeding and took their sustenance out of a pan like regular porkers.

Joe and Lige found their father, late in the afternoon, standing beside the box looking down at the little squealers with a speculative expression.

"I was thinking," he said as they approached him, "that we must provide better quarters for Romeo and Juliet. They've outgrown their box, and I don't see that we can spare them another. They ought to have more room."

"Couldn't we build them a pen out of logs?" asked Joe.

"Can't spare any of our precious timber for pigs," said Mr. Peniman. Then with a sudden smile breaking over his face, "Now I have it! Come along, boys, get your spades, and I'll soon show you how we can make Romeo and Juliet a fine home."

The boys had learned long since that the humorous little twinkle in the corner of their father's eye always meant fun ahead, so grabbing up their spades they followed him to a spot some distance back of the spot they had marked out for their future home on the river bank.

With a few quick strokes of his boot-heel Mr. Peniman described a circle on the ground. Then, throwing off his coat, he fell to digging.

Somewhat puzzled as to how a pig-pen was to be constructed with shovels, the boys followed his example.

"But I can't see," puffed Lige, "how this is going to make a place for _live_ pigs. If they were dead ones, and we were going to bury them----"

Suddenly Joe burst out laughing.

"Oh, I know," he cried. "Why, of course! It's a bully idea! Don't you see that we can _dig_ a pen for them? A mighty good kind of a pen, too, that they can't break down or squeeze through or get out of."

Mr. Peniman stopped digging long enough to mop his face.

"Surely! We'll make a pit about three feet deep, and big enough around so that the little fellows will have a chance to chase around and grow. This pair," he smiled, casting a smiling glance at the little porkers, "may be the beginning of our stock-farm." After a moment he continued, digging busily, "People who come out to the plains in wagons can't carry much with them, so they have to use everything they have at hand. There's not much of anything to work with on the prairies but dirt and grass, and we not only have to make them furnish our stock a home but ourselves as well."

Lige stopped and leaned on his spade.

"We aren't going to dig a hole like this for us to live in, are we?" he demanded in a tone of horror.

The shout of laughter with which his father and brother received this remark caused him to resume digging hastily. Mr. Peniman hastened to reassure him.

"Don't fear, Lige, we won't do that, but I'll show you a better way, and yet the prairies will have to furnish the material."

Lige was still unconvinced that the plan for the pig-pen was a good one, until when it was finished, a fine round pit of about twelve feet in circumference and three feet deep, the whole family came in a body to see Romeo and Juliet established in their new home.

This was accomplished after a good deal of squealing and struggling on the part of the tenants, but when they were finally established, with a roof across one end covered with a thatch of prairie grass to keep off the sun, they ran about and about in an ecstasy of glee, nosing the walls, rooting in the dirt, and expressing their pleasure with skips and grunts of delight.

"Well," admitted Lige a bit reluctantly, "I'll agree that that's an all-right pig-pen, but I don't see yet how you're ever going to make a house for us to live in out of dirt!"

"Wait for a few days and I'll show you," said his father cheerfully.

It was not even that long before his curiosity was gratified. The very next morning they were roused by their father's voice calling them.

"Come along, my lads," he cried, "we have much to do, and no time to sleep while there is daylight to work in these days! The fall will soon be upon us, and we must have our house ready before the rains come."

They saw that the plow that had been so long packed away in the bottom of the wagon had been taken out and Jim and Charley hitched to it.

"Now, Lige, I'll show you how to build a house out of dirt," he laughed, as, followed by the whole family, they set out toward the spot where the site for the house had been marked off on the grass.

"You don't do it with a _plow_, do you?" asked Lige, much puzzled.

"Yes,--partly," replied his father laughing. They all felt in high spirits this morning. The long, tedious, wearisome journey was over, the goal reached, and life lay before them like a clean new slate, upon which it was theirs to inscribe what they would.

Mrs. Peniman, much concerned about her new domicile, was carefully measuring off the ground and computing the space, while the children danced about as excitedly as if building a new home in the wilderness, miles upon miles from any other habitation, was the greatest joy imaginable.

When the plow was set upon the line and Jim and Charley started with a cheerful word of command it cut through the grass and turned over what was probably the first sod ever turned in that county.

The tough prairie sod was plowed about three inches thick in long furrows twelve to sixteen feet long. Joe, Lige, and Sam were then set to work with their sharp spades to cut it up into the required blocks.

"What are these for, Father?" asked Sam.

"These are the bricks of which we are going to build our house, my son," answered his father with a twinkle in his eye.

"But why don't we build our house of logs, Father?" asked Joe. "It seems to me it would be a lot nicer, and a lot less work. We have plenty of timber here. I think it would be much better."

"Which shows that you don't know anything about it, my boy. In the first place, we can't spare the timber. There is none too much of it at best, and what there is we want to save for fuel and shelter. In the second place, there is no house that is better for the hard weather of the prairies than a sod house. It is warm in winter, cool in summer, and about the only thing that will withstand the Nebraska blizzards and cyclones. Just wait until it is finished and you'll see. Don't you remember what a nice home the Wards had? Now take your spades and cut the sod as I am doing. Keep your squares even, and the edges of the sod straight and true. When we have the sod taken off this field it will be in fine condition to plow up, and perhaps we can get in a small crop of sod-corn yet this year."

The boys seized their spades and set to work manfully, and before noon had a good-sized pile of "Nebraska marble" piled up ready for use. After dinner, when they all felt somewhat refreshed, Mr. Peniman began laying the sods, which were about twelve inches square and three inches thick. They were piled one upon another, leaving open spaces for the places where the doors and windows were to go. When the walls were up to about the thickness of a couple of sods above the frames, lintels were laid across and the sod laid over them, continuing the walls right through. The vacant space above the frames was necessary to provide for the settling of the walls. When the walls were high enough, about seven feet, the gable ends were built up a few inches or a foot higher, for, to prevent the earth from washing off the sods by heavy rains, the roof was made almost flat. As the sods were laid Mr. Peniman trimmed down the walls with a sharp spade, to keep them square and trim. He shaved the top surface off each layer with a sharp hoe, and filled in the chinks between the sods with a kind of a cement made from the prairie clay and sand from the bed of the river.

All this, however, was not accomplished in one day. The work of cutting and laying the sods was hard and heavy labor, and before the day was over both the boys and their father were glad to quit for the night and go to their supper.

Here they found a glad and cheerful surprise awaiting them.