Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

A RTHUR Henderson, at the age of five and thirty, had got fairly into work ing order one of the best farms in Northwest Illinois. He had taken up two hundred acres upon a rich and beautiful slope, between the Missisippi and the Illinois, near the head waters of a clear and sparkling tributary of the former river. In addition to his farm, and all the buildings necessary to his comfort and convenience in carrying it on, he had, at the time of which we write, improved the grand water-power —a consideration of which had decided him in the choice of a loca tion —by erecting a double mill, in one depart ment of which were two “run of stone,” for grinding wheat and corn, and in the other a complete set of machinery for sawing boards and singles. In fact, he had so arranged it that he could saw out about all sorts of lumber that could be required in building a house. The sawmill had just been completed, but the grist mill had been in operation since spring; and it was now late in the fall. Mr. Henderson’s family consisted of himself, his wife, three children, and two hired men. Os his children —all girls—Ella was eight years of age, Nannie was six, while Kate, the naby, was but little over a year. There had been sorrow in the cup of Arthur and Ellen Henderson since Nannie “ran alone.” Two bright eyed cherubs had come to bless the yeoman’s cot, had learned to syllable, in musical prattle, the names of the loved ones, and had then been taken away by the inex plorable messenger whom God sends to pluck these sweet earth buds, that they may blossom in a fairer clime. At all events, so Ellen Hen derson, gazing heavenward through her gush ing tears, was minded to regard the dispensa tion which had bereft her. We have said it was late in the fall. One evening Mr. Henderson said to his wife: “Ellen, I have concluded that I will go down to the new settlement at Johnson’s Rapids to morrow. I hear they have a lot of grain there, which they may carry to Eastman’s if I do not secure it; and then I will take down a few hundred weight of flour with me. We have plenty of water now, and the mill-stones really seem to grunt and groan at standing still so much. We’ve got a splendid head, and we must improve it. This morning the water run a foot over the flush-boards.” Mrs. Henderson seemed rather pleased than otherwise, at this announcement, because she knew that several little things which she had wanted from “the store” would be now forth coming. But when, shortly afterward, her husband told her that the two hired men were going with him, she was not quite so content. She did not know as there could be any danger in being thus left alone with the children for a whole day; but she knew it would be very lone some. The nearest neighbor was more than a mile away, Mr. Henderson having diverged from the main path of the settlers in order that he might occupy the water-power, knowing that in time the tide would set his way; but it had not come yet. “You won’t be afraid, will you, Ellen?’' asked the husband, as he saw his wife’s coun tenance fall. “No,” replied Ellen, slowly and reluctantly. “I don’t know as there’s anything to be afraid of. You’ll be back before dark?” THE GOLDEN AGE FOR WEEK OF AUG. 28 A BORDER HEROINE The Thrilling Experience of a Pioneer Mother “Certainly.’ “I dont suppose,” pursued the wife, “that there are any Indians near us.’ “Mercy, no! There isn’t an Indian within forty miles of us.” “You know that dreadful Red Knife was —” “Pooh!” broke in Arthur, “Old Red Knife will never take another scalp. He was killed, three weeks ago, on Pope’s river, only about twenty miles north of us. If that rascal was alive, and anywhere within forty miles of us, I don’t know as I should be so ready to leave you. But, Ellen, you shall have your say. If vou wish it. David will remain at home.” But she did not wish it. She knew that the men had worked hard, and that they would like to go to the Rapids, and she told them they should go. And so the matter was set tled. On the following morning, bright and early, the men had eaten their breakfasts, and were ready to set forth. “Remember, my stout little woman,” said Mr. Henderson to his wife, after he had kiss ed her, and taken his seat in the wagon upon the flour bags, “if anybody comes with a grist, you will let them do their own lifting. And remember, too, that there’s an extra head of water on, so you won’t need to raise the gate more than half way.” Mrs. Henderson said that she understood all that, and having once more promised that he would be at home before dark, her husband and his two men started off. Arthur Henderson had called his wife a “stout little woman.” And so she was. Short of stature —so short as to appear childish, at a distance —she was yet so plump with useful flesh, and so compactly built, that few women were stronger, and none possessed more en durance. In short, she was, as her husband and his friends often said, “a precious little lump of humanity;” for she was one of the most blithsome and joyous-hearted creatures ever transplanted to the frontier, and, at the same time, one of the most true and resolute. Touching her bravery, we shall see anon. Mrs. Henderson had done up her morning’s work, including the dressing of baby, and had set Ella and Nannie at their lessons, when the son of a neighbor who lived little more than a mile away—their nearest neighbor — stopped to inquire if his father s horse had been seen that way. No. Mrs. Henderson had seen nothing ot the kind. Had the animal run away? No. It had been stolen! The horse had been shut up in the barn the night before, and this morning it was gone. Hadn’t Mrs. Hen derson heard how many horses had been stolen within one or two weeks? No. She had heard nothing at all about it; and the boy left her wondering what kind of horse thieves these might be that were prowl ing around through that section of country. From this time the little woman began to worry, and to wish that her husband had not left her. If there were horse thieves at hand, and they should know that Arthur Hender son’s house and mill were protected only by a woman and three prattling children, might they not come that way? And as she sat and pondered, the impression burned itself deep ly in upon her mind that those marauders who robbed by daylight seldom, if ever left wit nesses to appear against them. She was worrying thus—it was after noon — and had about made up her mind to take her children and go to their nearest neighbor’s, when little Nannie came running in, clapping her hands and crying: “Oh, mamma, mamma, the scarecrows are coming. Oh, scarecrows can walk! Come and see.” Mrs. Henderson cast her eyes out through the door, which the child had left open, and saw three Indians coming toward the house from the direction of the bluff. At this place the stream by which Mr. Hen derson had built ran from east to west, and his buildings were upon the southern bank, occupying the edge of a broad, level piece of bottom land, such as in the East would be call ed an intervale. About two hundred rods from the house, to the southward, arose an abrupt bluff, nearly three hundred feet high, the crown of which was covered with wood, and from this wood the Indians had evidently come. The little woman saw them, and saw that it was too late to shut them out, for they were so near the house that had she closed the door, they could have leaped in at the window be fore she could have reached the shutters. All she could do was to let them come, meanwhile praying to God for the lives of herself and her children. Oh, what horrible looking savages they were! Tall and muscular, more than half naked, bedaubed with paint in streaks and dabs, wearing upon their heads simple bands of red cloth stuck all round with feathers; in their belts each carrying a long knife and a hatchet; in their hands each a rifle; while two of them had bows and quivers at their backs. The tallest and largest of the three, and he who came in first, was frightful to look upon. He was not only painted like his com panions, but be had a deep gash over his right eye. and upon his cheek was a plaster of pitch. “Ugh!” grunted the demon leader, as Mrs. Henderson stood pale and trembling by her little table, supporting herself by its edge, while Ella and Nannie crouched in a corner near her, the former explaining to the latter that those weren’t “scarecrows, but Indians Ugh ! me know —men all gone—squaw and babies all alone —man think Red Knife killed! No kill him right away. Red Knife bleed muc h—bleed little river full—but he no killed. Ugh ! we too big for Pale Face —too strong. We mighty! But Red Knife very hungry now. White squaw make us eat! Ugh! dont she die!” While the savage had been thus speaking, the little woman had been thinking. At the first pronunciation of that terrible name—the name of a Winnebago brave who had shed more white blood than any other Indian known —she had come very nigh fainting; but she remembered the sweet child that lay asleep in the cradle close at hand, and she at length re solved that she would bear up while she could, (Continued on page 14.) LOOK AT THE LITTLE LABEL ON YOUR PAPER. If your Subscription is past due make us glad by sending your renewal. How many will do this? 3