Part 6

"Mr. Ringe, it is an old proverb that 'murder will out.' I have much faith in that saying, and for this reason: There is a God. His eye is ever on us. He has said, 'Thou shalt not kill.' He can alone give life. It is one of the greatest crimes possible for man wantonly to destroy that life. God is the Governor of the world, and he will punish the murderer. For the safety of society, and that bad men may be deterred from this highest form of sin, he takes special pains to bring to light the murderer. From him there can be no such thing as escape. Man is sometimes deceived and foiled, but God never!"

His countenance grew dark. The clamor of his tongue ceased, and for a few moments we were permitted to think in quiet as we stretched ourselves by the fountain's side.

Returning to the cabin, I had seated myself on a log, Ringe and Shuber by my side,—for they did not lose sight of me,—when the former stealthily left me, and went to the south side of the dwelling. A small ell had been attached to the main building. That only had been occupied by the owner, as the rest of the cabin was unfinished. In front of the ell was a high rail fence, making a snug enclosure a few feet square before the door. Ringe stopped at the little yard, and stood intently looking, now on the ground, now in at the door. Was he afraid that some clew had been left there by the assassin? His manner was eager and shy.

Springing over the fence, I began to pick up fragments of letters thickly scattered among the loose straw, when suddenly it occurred to me that that was the place where the fiend had laid in wait for his victim. The Englishman had been shot on the other side of his house. From the condition of his field, and the fact that his hoe and pipe were near where he fell, it was plain that he had been hoeing, and had left his work in order to rest and, smoke a while. The murderer having crept into his cabin, had no doubt shot him then. But if so, as there was no window on that side of the house, an aperture must have been made in the building, through which to take aim. A bed stood before the open door against the northern wall. Getting upon that, I saw an opening had indeed been made. It looked out over the bloody spot. Calling a neighbor, and directing him to stand by the spot, I found he was in exact range.

Ringe and Shuber were arrested on suspicion.

The justice, before whom the first trial was to occur, resided at a newly-settled town, twelve miles from our place. A friend, who acted as sheriff, invited me to ride over with him. Before the justice's cabin were a large number of persons watching our buggy as we drove up. Old Ringe and his friends were among them, and, as I alighted, he came forward, extending his hand as to an old acquaintance, saying,—

"Welcome! welcome! Glad to see the minister,—was afraid you wouldn't be here. 'You' will want justice done. 'You' won't stand by and see an innocent man like me falsely condemned. Look at my gray hairs and my dim eyes. Why, sir, these poor eyes couldn't 'see' to shoot a man, even if I wished to take the life of a follow-creature. But why should I do such a thing? I am almost in my grave,—have but a few days here at most. No; no, you are a minister of Christ, and I know you can't have an old man like me hung,—I know you can't!"

This appeal, so unexpected, so affecting in its allusion to his advanced years, uttered in the thrilling tones of one who felt that his life was at stake, came near unmanning me. Releasing myself from his grasp, I said, aside to the sheriff, "How is this? Persons arrested for a capital offence at large—prisoners and witnesses mingling freely together! What does this mean? Why, they can agree on any testimony they choose!"

"Oh," replied the easy official, "never mind; the lawyers will pick the witnesses to pieces when they come to the stand!"

At the hotel a mile off, after tea, old Ringe met me again, with the most touching and insinuating appeals. They were hard to withstand, even from him. And when, next morning, he renewed his entreaties, I said,—

"Mr. Ringe, it is useless to appeal to me in this way. You know that I would not wrong you for the world. I shall state, as a witness, only what I have seen and heard, no more, no less. I can keep back nothing. I shall add nothing. This is all I could promise the dearest friend on earth."

As I spoke, a stern, bitter glance shot from his eyes, and a deathly pallor spread over his face. He avoided me from that time.

"Would you like to ride a few miles before court?" asked the sheriff. "I am going for two of Ringe's daughters, who were from home at the time of the murder. He says he can prove by them that the young German intended to kill Callahan. He states that they dropped corn for the German a short time before the murdered man was shot, and that he had tried to hire them to poison Callahan, that he might get his claim.'"

"Well," said I, "there is one request I wish to make; and that is, that the girls shall not be tampered with by the father, or any of his witnesses."

"Don't see the need of that. But if you wish it, I can take them to another house, and keep them there till you see the justice about it."

They were singular enough in appearance. Short, stout, tawny; with large, oval eyes; ears so long as to look inhuman; bold faces, and an oily speech. I had heard that they could lie and steal, and what might they not do, if their own father was ready to testify that their employer had sought to bribe them to poison his neighbor?

"Father didn't kill that man!" said one of them, sharply.

"How do you know that?" asked the officer.

"Because he's almost blind, he's so old. He couldn't see," she added, "if he was here in this wagon, to shoot the tail of that horse!"

"How does that agree with his deer-hunting before daylight?" said the sheriff.

The girls were kept secluded, despite the ravings of the father and the arts of his supporters; and it was significant that they were not summoned as witnesses, nor was the German accused.

During the trial, the State's attorney, taking me aside, said, "Search should be made through time neighborhood in which the murder was committed, for evidence that may serve as a clew to the murderer. I am persuaded that if any thing can yet be found, you can discover it. Would you be deputized for that purpose?"

"Yes, rather than let the criminal escape."

His horse and buggy were placed at my service, and, accompanied by a Frenchman, and a substantial farmer, I soon arrived at our place of destination. Cabin after cabin was visited, boxes and trunks opened, beds stripped, floors taken up, each nook and cranny scrutinized, without avail. Repairing to the creek, I noticed that on the stumps of the willows, that had been felled to conceal the body of the murdered man, gaps in the ax used, had left their impress on the wood. The farmer at once cut off the willow stumps, and taking them with us, we examined the axes in the neighborhood. In Ringe's house was one, the edge of which corresponded perfectly with the impression in the wood. The steel and the helve were also bloody.

"Now look sharp for bloody garments," said I.

A low, unlighted attic, to which access was had by a ladder, held the accumulated cast-offs of the household. Such a dusty, filthy collection! Only the friendship cherished for the inoffensive deceased, deepened by that peculiar interest felt in one for whom the Christian minister has toiled and prayed, and a strong desire that justice should be done, could have borne me through the repulsive task. The search was vain.

"Mr. D., hadn't we better give it up?" cried the farmer. "It's getting late, and we've seen all this house has to show!"

"A moment more," I replied, as I remembered that two beds, lying side by side on the floor, had not been removed. Lifting them up, we found beneath one a man's shirt, the arm and shoulder saturated with blood.

As we reëntered the court-room with the discoveries we had made, a deep silence prevailed. We had brought also another witness, who testified that old Ringe attempted, on one occasion, to burn Callahan to death; and that the old man had repeatedly said in his presence that he meant to kill him yet. The ax, willows, and garment were critically examined, the counsel for the prisoners not being able to explain away the evidence thus presented.

That night I slept in the same room with one of Ringe's lawyers. I shall not soon forget him, and the developments of our interview. He had a calm, keen eye; dark hair thrown back from a finely-turned forehead; a physiognomy sincere and refined. In his address there was a perfect air of good-breeding that inspired respect. He had an acute and logical mind, liberal acquirements, and a well-balanced intellectual and moral character. He realized my ideal of a learned, cultivated, upright lawyer. A "protegé" of Hon. Mr. Giddings, he had come to Minnesota on account of impaired health, and this was his first case in the territory. After retiring to our room, he wished to know the particulars of the terrible tragedy. The narrative impressed him deeply. I soon after fell asleep, but was in a short time awakened by his groaning and restlessness.

"Are you ill?" I asked.

"No," he replied; "but it is so horrible, so horrible—that murder!"

Again, as he turned from side to side, he exclaimed, "Blood cries from the ground for vengeance!"

And this was the man who, in the court-room, was so unimpassioned, permitting nothing to pass that was adverse to his client, without the most searching scrutiny!

Before day broke, he said, "I have been dreadfully harassed by this case." Then, after a few moments, he added, "I have no doubt of the guilt of that old man. He's the murderer; but I can clear him. My partner has proposed a plan, which I am not at liberty to explain, that must be effectual. What shall I do? Help spring the legal trap, and let the criminal loose, and thus succeed professionally, or not?"

"Let me entreat you," said I, "to do right. God will bless you in it, and you will have a clear conscience."

"I will think it over," he replied, "and see what I can do," and he relapsed into his uneasy slumbers.

With eager scrutiny I studied his countenance in court the next day to ascertain his decision. In vain. I trembled for him, so severely loyal did he seem to his client's interests, and true to the pride of success. But his sterling, moral principle prevailed and Ringe and Shuber were recommitted.

He knew my anxiety, and said, as he passed from the court-room, with a happy smile upon his handsome face,—

"'Did I do right?'"

As for myself, procuring a box, I put the ax, willows, and shirt in it, in the presence of suitable witnesses, and committed the whole to the justice for safe keeping.

No jail had been built. The sheriff, therefore, took the accused to his own home. He lived quite a distance from the culprit's place, and it was not long before the cunning old man had so won upon his unsuspecting nature, as to be permitted to hire out as a day laborer. Wherever he went he pleaded his cause so effectually that the public mind became strongly excited in his behalf. He made also another diversion in his own favor. Among his children was one, familiarly called Bill, who was about eighteen years of age. He was the youngest of his boys, as well as the whitest. He was a great rogue, and was well known as such. His father called him half-witted, but he was an adept in villainy. Horse-stealing, robbing trunks, money-drawers, and stores of their goods, were among his exploits. Over the vices of his boy, Ringe whined and groaned among his new friends, and at last accused Bill of being the murderer. The lie was believed. When the witnesses of the State went to the second trial, they found that the settlers at the county-seat and vicinity had prejudged the case. A jury was drawn from the material at hand, and, although on hearing both sides most of them modified their views of the case, such was the previous condition of their minds, coupled with the fact, perhaps, as stated afterward by a juror, that several of their number were "opposed to capital punishment," Ringe and his confederate were cleared.

The terror that this result inspired among those who had been active in endeavoring to bring the perpetrators of the murder to light, can not be described.

The Norwegian went armed. Every night he and his family slept in the wretched attic of his low-roofed cabin, drawing the ladder up after them on retiring. But this state of things could not be endured. A party of resolute men went to the cabin of liberated desperadoes, and warned them off, on pain of forcible ejection. They soon disappeared.

The murdered man's valuable "claim," with its movable property, that his assassins had intended should become theirs, were sold at a good price. The fragments of paper which I had saved, on being put together, proved to be a letter from a brother of Callahan, residing in Lowell, Massachusetts, to whom we had the pleasure of sending the avails of the estate.

Who can predict the next new thing that will transpire on the frontier? One day, some two months after Ringe's final trial, an elderly man called on me, and said,—

"I have come to ask, sir, if you will not make a five o'clock appointment, some Sabbath, to preach at my place. We have a very respectable community there, sir, now. Many new families have come in, and we would like to hear a gospel sermon now and then."

"Where do you live?" I inquired.

"At Slough Creek, seven miles from here."

Assenting to the request, the next Sabbath found me on my way there.

"Can you tell me where Mr. C. lives?" I asked of a well-dressed woman whom I overtook.

"Just through the woods, a few rods, the first house," she replied.

On arriving, what was my surprise to find that the meeting was to be at Ringe's log-house, now in new hands, and refitted and enlarged so as to present quite a neat and comfortable appearance. There was a good attendance and earnest attention. Among the audience, here and there, was one who had been partially of Ringe's company. They listened with no less respect because of the part I had taken in seeking to make the power of the law felt among the lawless dwellers upon our frontier.

FRONTIER WOMEN.

THE gentler traits of womanly character find little expression on the outskirts of civilization. When the wife and mother turns her back on her Eastern home, she enters on scenes which change the whole current of her existence, and often seem to make her a new being. It is interesting to notice how the transition process varies in different persons.

Some are "persuaded" into emigration. They start on the journey reluctantly, clinging to the old, familiar places. They have no day-dreams to lure them—no heart for the transplanting. From regard to others they join the restless tide that sots toward the West. Others take the "Western fever" as readily as their husbands, and clothe the stern realities of removal with a roseate hue, seeing only ease, comfort, competency in prospective. But when, at the end of their journey, they take up their abode in a wild prairie,—

"Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide, wide sea"

of vegetation, and dead-level monotony; no churches, no school-houses, scarcely a neighbor to speak to, friends and kindred far away,—how the thermometer of the feelings goes down! how the air-castles vanish!

But if you think either of these classes make poor pioneers, you mistake.

There was Mrs. S., a practical, matter-of-fact person, unsusceptible to the love of adventure or of change. Submit any scheme to her, and, however dazzling it might be to an ardent nature, she looked at it in the light of fact, reckoning up the pros and cons with mathematical coolness. When, therefore, her husband became excited by accounts of the cheap lands, sure to rise, the fertile soil and healthful climate of Minnesota, she was calm. When he suggested emigrating, she was unmoved. Toil, deprivation, disappointment were invisible to his enthusiasm, but to her they stood revealed as verities, and to argue with her was useless. Indeed, looking at their present condition, why should she be in haste to abandon it for a life both new and dubious? Their pleasant home, with its broad acres and fine buildings, they owned. Educational privileges were excellent. Her husband was honored with office in church and state. But the more Mr. S. talked about a removal, the more his zeal was inflamed. The wife saw that his happiness was bound up in the matter, and more than that, his health, perhaps. Often prostrated by acute disease, he had been recommended to try the climate of the Northwest as a remedy. This consideration turned the scale in his favor. The homestead was sold, the furniture, farm implements, &c., advertised for sale at public auction. The avails of these, together with the "first payment" on the house, were to furnish the money for use in the new home.

Mr. S., however, after all his pleading, felt a little disheartened, when, the very night before the appointed sale, his goods took fire and burned up. But the wife had decided to go, and this untoward event did not discourage her. As they were to travel by their own conveyance, the emigrant wagon was made ready, and, with bedding, food, and cooking utensils packed, poultry-crate lashed behind, and the children aboard, they started on their "thousand miles'" journey! The first day all went "merry as a marriage bell," but at night, Mr. S. came down with ague and fever. He was utterly prostrated, and proposed to give up the expedition and return.

"No!" replied the wife, who had assumed the office of driver, "I am not going to drive these horses back again and he laughed at by the neighbors! Besides, if Minnesota will cure you, you need more than ever to go there now, and 'I' shall not give up till we are there."

She kept her word; becoming coachman, doctress, nurse, cook, and guide.

She selected the camping-place at night, groomed the horses, took care not only of the babies, but of her husband. It was she that inquired the route, led the horses safely around "sloughs," and forded bridgeless streams, and, at last Mr. S. being still helpless, she picked out a "claim" on the frontier, and a valuable one it was, combining water, grassland, plowing, timber, and nearness to a young town. She made their temporary shanty comfortable as possible, until, his payments coming in and his land rising, he was able to build a framed house. Not a word of complaint, reproach, or discouragement passed her lips through all this, nor did sickness and danger appall her.

An incident will illustrate her self-possession. There had been occasional depredations by the Indians. Still further on the frontier a bloody massacre of whites had taken place, and women were carried off captives. There were rumors of further trouble, as the savages were concentrating in force, and, mounted on their ponies, they could make a long sweep in a night.

One day alone, Mrs. S. stood before the looking-glass attending to her toilet. The cabin door was open, and her back toward it. Suddenly, she saw in the mirror the reflection of an Indian entering. Before she could turn herself, he had glided across the room in his soft moccasins, and laid hold of her. She gave no sign of terror, however—always the proper conduct in dealing with savages, as they respect courage, and suspect some hidden "power" behind it. He gently seized her long, flowing locks, remarkable for their luxuriant beauty, and measuring them with his arm, uttered an admiring exclamation, then released her, and departed as he came!

Mrs. N., another Western woman, was also quite a heroine. She was hostess of the first tavern at which the stage left me on arriving in Minnesota. It was a rough log-house. There was in process of building a small framed addition to it. Before this was a cellar, dug in anticipation of another "raising." Across this excavation we had to walk on a narrow plank to gain admittance to the house. The doctors I had left behind cautioned me not to sit or sleep in a current of air. That night, in company with a clerical friend, who felt quite merry at the aspect of things, I slept with the stars full in sight through the roof, while the winds sighed, and whistled, and moaned, and frolicked in and out the apartment, as the humor suited them. However, the next morning found us both, to our surprise, invigorated by the air baths we had taken.

At breakfast, I felt a little anxious to know how our merriment over hotel-life in Minnesota had been received by our landlady, who must have heard some of our criticisms. She impressed me as a lady of culture, and took our remarks as a matter of course. We soon learned something of her history. Her husband was from the East, a man of some property. He made his claim where I now found him, when there was scarcely a cabin in the region, confident that the site was a good one for a town. It was a wild, lonely spot, on the margin of a foaming stream, and between huge, shaggy bluffs, crowned with forests, in which the Indian and the wild beast roamed. Aside from the fish and game which abounded, all their supplies were brought from some trading point on the Mississippi. When her husband was on his long journeys for this purpose, she was sometimes left alone.

"Did you not feel discontented under such circumstances?" we asked.

"Not in the least. My husband thought it best to remove here, and that was enough. What was best for him, was best for me!"

"But were you not troubled by the Indians?"

"Yes, at that time, very much. They were afraid of our workmen, and would behave very well when a few white men were around, but they always endeavored to impose on us when unprotected."

"What did you do at such times?"

"Put on a bold face, and let them see that I did not fear them. I am astonished at the nerve I had. One day my husband was away. Quite suddenly a Sioux came into the house, and, without saying a word, took a seat. Another followed, and another, until a dozen had entered. Perceiving that I was alone, they commenced searching the house for plunder; examining boxes, trunks, and barrels. I had, however, by way of precaution, concealed what I could, and they did not find much. But they soon grew saucy and turbulent, and what added to my apprehension was, the fact that the leader of the party was half intoxicated. Still, as they had no arms, I thought I could manage them. After a time the chief chanced to see my husband's rifle, hanging overhead. It was loaded and capped. He started to get it. I divined his object, and started too, and as he was taking it down, I said, sternly,—

"Put that rifle back!"

"He made a taunting gesture, and I attempted to wrest the rifle from him. We struggled,—I with the strength of desperation, for I well knew it would be a dangerous weapon in his hands, besides it was my only protection. None of his followers interfered while we contended for the mastery, but my courage led him to suspect that help was at hand, and, still grasping the gun, he asked,—

"'White man coming back "bime-by?"' A question which meant, Will he be long in coming? I quickly replied,—

"No. White man coming back bime-by 'quick!' This startled him, for he knew he had provoked retaliation, and hastily leaving, followed by his troop, they mounted their ponies, and drove off at full speed.