# The Land Claim/Chapter 1

THE LAND CLAIM;
A STORY OF THE UPPER MISSOURI.
CHAPTER I.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
Away, away toward the almost trackless plain stretched the rolling prairies. The Indian Territory had given way before the advancing hosts of civilization, and surveyors, speculators, locaters, squatters, traders and adventurers gathered where the red-man had been, to found new States. Nebraska and Kansas became familiar names; and, as the Pawnees, the Owahas, the Ottoes, the Kickapoos, the Puncas, disappeared like shadows, the tide of restless, eager, insatiable "pale-faces" poured in to make the Indian wilderness to blossom with a new life. The grand old river, coming from the unexplored and mythic regions of the Rocky Mountains, poured its flood through plain and forest, through bluff and bottom, to bear on its bosom the new civilization which it was to serve with the best elements of health, wealth and peace. From its sides spread the avenues of settlement, and villages sprung up like magic to stand as buoys guiding the settler to the new regions beyond, where plains were still unstaked and timber bottoms still unclaimed.
Among those who sought the Nebraska country, at an early moment after its opening for settlement, was Thomas Newcome. Though hailing from Connecticut, he was an Englishman, and had sought the West," not more to better his fortunes than to gratify an uneasy and reckless spirit, little fitted for the observations and restraints of a New England community. His history had been tinged with the romance—which, unfortunately for happiness and good order is too frequently the truth—of a mesalliance: he had won the love of an artless girl, the daughter of a noble family which he served as gardener, and, with her, had fled to America. The mere child-wife of his deception learned her error only too late, and lived long enough to taste the bitterness of poverty as well as the more poignant sorrow of unkindness at the hands of the cruel and unforgiving man she was forced to call husband. The act of desertion had not only alienated her friends and family, but her fortune—the prize which Newcome had most coveted—was disposed of to ​others, and the beautiful woman only lived long enough to teach her daughter the grace and culture of a cultivated circle-to impart to her a mother's beauty, and, alas, all her sorrows.
Newcome and his child occupied a claim close upon the Missouri. Their newly-built log-cabin nestled close in upon the belt of timber which, fortunately, ran across the selected section of land, whose boundaries-well defined on three sides by the river, the woods, and a ravine cutting down through the bluffs-were still open and a matter of doubt on the fourth side. The "blazing" of trees, and driving of stakes across the prairies, indicated the limits of the land "located" by the preemptors. Where these lines were thus plainly marked, no doubts could arise as to each man's proper possessions; where the lines were not so marked, or where the stakes had been moved either by accident or design, the limits of the claim might become a matter of dispute. Such disputes often occurred, and afterward proved.the source of much litigation as well as violence.
On the fourth side, Newcome's lines were not definitely indicated, and trespassers were not long in waiting. The rich soil ajacent had been located by one of four young imen, whose cabin reposed on the bosom of the prairie in the midst of their conjoined claims. The Englishman found the stakes driven on what he conceived to be his soil; whereupon his unruly spirit became aroused to its fullest extent, and he proceeded to pull up the offending landmarks. The stakes, however, were replaced by his bachelor neighbors, and the intimation given that they should insist upon their line-an intimation which stirred Newcome's heart to the point of resorting to powder and ball to defend his claim. Against this spirit of her father, Alicia, his daughter, was powerless. Though but a girl in years, she Was his only aid and housekeeper, and alone had to bear her heavy burden. The fear of bloodshed, however, induced her to plead for peace-a plea which only aggravated the parent's unnatural harshness. He walked the floor, in his anger, uttering imprecations on his neighbors. Alicia, to divert his thoughts, at length timidly remarked:
"Mr. Mauvais, from the trading-post, was here to-day inquiring for you."
"What did he want with me?-the cursed Frenchman!"
"He did not state his business; he said he would call again in a day or two."
Newcome looked sharply at his daughter.
"Must have been urgent business, I should say! How long did he stay? What did he say to you?"
The young girl felt herself blushing, more at her father's tone and manner, than at any thing she recollected in the interview with the trader. This suspicious manner on the part of the questioner made her own hesitating and embarrassed, as she answered:
"I hardly can tell what he said; though I think he admired our choice for a building spot-remarked that this whole country was ​familiar ground to him—that he could tell me many interesting stories of the Indian wars, manners, legends, etc."
"No doubt. Very interesting some of them would be. He ought to be pretty well posted in Indian customs. What else did he say?"
"He asked me whether I had any brothers and sisters; and thought I must be very lonely on this wild claim with no one but you; and you gone much of the time."
"He thinks you need company, does he? Well, I don't agree with him. I tell you what, Alicia Newcome, if that French trader comes around here any more, asking for me, and stopping to talk with you, I'll make you sorry for encouraging such acquaintances."
"But, how can I keep him from coming, or from talking to me if he should come?" asked Alicia, between grief and resentment at her father's harshness.
"There's ways enough. Every woman knows, or ought to know, how to rid herself of the society of disreputable men."
"But I am not a woman yet, father; and I do not know how to give any but a respectful answer to respectful remarks from any one."
"Too much mother's blood, eh? Take care that I don't see you showing your good blood too plainly. You understand? I will not have you doing as your mother did before you—courting with her gracious smiles every one she met."
This manner of being revenged on his aristocratic wife for bringing him no money was habitual with Newcome, and had been one of the briers in her crown of thorns while she lived. Accustomed as was Alicia to hear her mother sneered at on account of that very gentleness which had made her too easy a prey to a foolish passion and a designing underling, she could but reflect upon her superiority in all those qualifications which confer grace and sweetness; nor could she help being hurt at every fresh insult to the memory of her dead mother, though use had done what it might to render her young mind callous to them. A few slow-dropping tears rolled over her cheeks, which she brushed away stealthily, for fear of giving occasion to a yet more cruel taunt on her likeness to her beloved and departed mother.
The cabin of Thomas Newcome was but a dreary place for so fair a young creature as his only child. Happily for her she did not feel it as a serious misfortune to be poor. Whatever of elegant tastes she had received from her mother's training while still they abode in intellectual New England, had taught her rather to embellish poverty with many careful arts, than to be herself overcome by its natural ugliness. Thus it happened that, though every thing was most unpoetically new, rude and ungraceful about the cabin home, an air of neatness and propriety were everywhere visible, which spoke volumes in favor of its youthful mistress. And yet, making every possible allowance, and seeing every thing in the most favorable light, ​it was, after all, but a poor and barren spot for gentle youth and eminent beauty to take healthy root in.
Perhaps some such thought was in the sullen breast of Thomas Newcome; as he stole a furtive glance at his daughter straining her eyes to hem-stitch some curtains for the cabin-windows by the light of a single tallow candle. What would her proud English relations say, could they see her as he saw her at that moment? Cursing them in his heart, he started up so violently as to upset the rude chair he had occupied, and began pacing the puncheon floor restlessly.
" Go to bed, girl! I want an early breakfast; for I shall be out ahead of them claim-jumpers. If it's boundaries they want that's what I'll give them to-morrow morning. If they dare to pull up one of my stakes, I'll let daylight into them, without further notice."
Terrified at her father's unusually violent mood, Alicia quickly and silently obeyed, retiring to the only bedroom, while her father threw himself on a "bunk" in the common living room; and stillness, if not sleep, fell upon the inmates of that lonely habitation.