# The Land Claim/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
THE TRAGEDY IN THE TIMBER.
The beauty of this May morning seemed to have called abroad every thing animate. Birds sung merrily from the neighboring woodland-the sly and graceful prairie-wolf leaped noiselessly through the grass within a few rods of the passer-by—great, fat, lazy and harmless snakes lay coiled up in pairs on the sunniest banks, and already small yellow butterflies fluttered around the wild pinks, larkspurs and honeysuckles.
Henry Edwards and Fredrick. Allen, the Doc and Squire of the ​foregoing chapter, could not restrain their pleasure as they trod buoyantly along the way to their claim. Their path lay along a ridge of the bluffs which divides the prairie from the timber land; on one side an ocean of green land billows; on the other a sloping forest, going down, down, for a mile of irregular descent, until it came to the banks of the mighty Missouri, glimpses of which could be seen here and there, through long green vistas made by ravines traversing the bluffs in a downward direction to the river. The sky had that beautiful azure hue which denotes a pure atmosphere; -the sun shone brilliantly; and to the two young men who sung, and laughed, and shouted as they walked, with axes slung over their shoulders that never felt the weight, life seemed a festival, bare existence a rich delight.
There was another young creasure abroad that morning who felt "glad that she was alive." Having prepared her father's early morning meal, as the night before directed, and put the simple furniture of the cabin in order, Alicia had come out with her basket to gather strawberries, thousands of baskets of which were lying in luscious ripeness among the hazel-bushes that skirted the prairie. Nothing could have been more entirely appropriate as a crowning beauty to the May-morning landscape, than this young English beauty. The simple, flowing dress, the pretty straw hat, the scarlet shawl crossed over the girlish bosom and tied behind, to be out of the way of the bushes—these first caught the eyes and fixed the admiring gaze of the young men on their way to dispute boundaries with her father.
Alicia Newcome was not personally known to either of them, though the fame of her beauty, which was spread abroad among the settlers, had already reached their ears. A nearer view of, the face, half hidden in soft flaxen curls and shadowed by the wide straw hat, left no doubt who was the charming strawberry-girl they found it necessary to pass, though with never so much reluctance.
With a courteous salute, the young men walked past, each wishing in his heart he had some good excuse for speaking to the lovely child-woman—for so she looked—yet not venturing to abash the gentle modesty that breathed from her very figure; and had gone on but a few paces, when a cry of alarm suddenly arrested their steps, and caused both to hasten back to the spot where Alicia was standing, spell-bound with terror.
Two immense serpents, coiled together into a mound of frightful dimensions and appearance, explained the occasion of her alarm.
"They are quite harmless, Miss—Miss Newcome, I presume?" began Fred Allen.
Alicia drew a long breath. "Oh, I beg your pardon, sirs, for interrupting your walk, but I am so timid about snakes, and don't know a harmless one from one that is venomous."
This was said while the three hurried rapidly away from the ugly-looking coil.
​"It is no wonder you were frightened, I am sure," the Doctor rejoined. "I never fail to be startled at every form of serpent, whether fanged or not. Pray, let me carry your basket, for I perceive you are still trembling."
"Oh, no, sir, I thank you. It is not large enough to be heavy; and not half full either," she added, smiling. "I don't think I shall fill it to-day."
"For fear of more frights? Let us see if you have enough for dinner," said Allen, smilingly taking the basket from her hands. "Why, no; here is not half a basketful, sure enough. There are plenty of them over on my claim, close by. The Doctor, here, and myself could soon fill it for you, if you will allow us."
A look of frightened perplexity came over Alicia's before untroubled face, and pausing instantly, she extended her hand for the basket.
"No, no; you are very kind, but I cannot trouble you so much." Then seeing that the young men were surprised at the sudden change in her manner, she seemed to take a rapid mental survey of her situation, and eagerly continued, in tones of childlike earnestness: "For you are the gentlemen, are you not, whom my father is disputing boundaries with? I don't know who is right. I think it very likely my father may be wrong—he is hasty—but—oh, sirs, I fear something sad will happen if the dispute goes any further."
Her evident apprehension, and the tearful pathos of her glance, as she concluded the last sentence, affected the young men visibly, though it was only through sympathy.
"Do not be alarmed on your father's account, Miss Newcome," Allen sald, gently. "I give you my word that I shall not use violence in this quarrel."
"It is not my intention, either, to do so," added the Doctor.
"I am very much afraid," murmured the young girl, sadly. "I ought not to conceal from you that my father is in a terrible passion, and that he took his gun with him this morning."
"Then," said Allen, affecting an indifference he did not feel, "your father is safe, and it is only we who are in danger; for we, you perceive, are not armed."
The child was not used to argument, nor to express her own convictions very often; therefore she gave for answer not words indeed, but such a look of touching appeal as was better than a whole chapter of logic. Allen felt his heart give a great bound in answer to it.
"If you will let us fill your basket with berries, and go home contented with our peaceable intentions, I think I may promise you a happy settlement of the present difficulties. What do you say, Doctor?"
"That I shall be very happy to help bring about the promised settlement."
Thus urged, the young girl complied pleasantly. She secretly thought, besides, that delay was in this case not "dangerous," but, ​on the contrary, might prove a means of conciliation, by giving her father time to cool his anger, in the bright morning air. Cheered by this hope, her native graciousness of manner returned to her, and she received the heaped up basket with mirthful thanks.
"Good-morning now, Miss Newcome," Allen had replied; "perhaps your father may invite me home with him, to help eat them."
"I hope he may," was the fervent rejoinder; the echo of which answer rung in Allen's ears, and lit, also, a half-conscious blush on the cheek of the fair child herself, as she remembered her father's taunts of the previous evening, and feared she had been too forward in conversing with these strangers.
In a somewhat altered mood, the young men proceeded on their morning walk, and arrived at the disputed boundary in time to find their stakes already removed, and new ones placed where they cut off a valuable portion of their claim. This alteration prevented their prairie and timber land from joining, as it did before, and spoiled the shapeliness of the claim. The first impulse of either was a disposition to fight it out by force, if necessary-for they had the claim-laws on their side-but, upon remembering their promise to the timid child they had just parted from, a better resolution replaced the promptings of passion.
"All we can do in the premises," said Allen, "is to pull up these stakes, as Newcome has done, and put them back in their former places."
"Agreed," answered the Doctor. "I don't see any other way."
For half an hour the young men worked uninterruptedly; but, coming to the border of the timber, they then perceived Newcome, leaning against a tree, and carefully watching their proceedings. Resolving to take no notice of him unless first addressed, they continued pulling up and laying the stakes opposite the spot where he, stood.
"You'll find your labor lost, gentlemen," he remarked, grinning maliciously.
"Very well; we can repeat this game as often as you can," was the Doctor's impulsive reply.
"You may repeat it once too often!" retorted the Englishman.
"Do you threaten me?" asked the Doctor, angrily.
"Remember our promise, Doc," muttered Allen, so as not to be heard by the other. "Let the obstinate dog go: he may do you some mischief."
"If I don't threaten I may execute," said Newcome, with an ugly sneer.
Allen now saw that this war of words was likely to continue to an unprofitable length, and desiring to cover the Doctor's irritation, he hastened to put in a reply before his friend could do so.
"We don't think, Mr. Newcome, that you will do any thing violent or unlawful. If we can not settle this difficulty between ​ourselves, we can take it before the claim-club, or into a court, if you choose."
"No, you don't get me into law, my fine gentlemen! I know very well where my rights would go to, in that case. Folks of your profession are not troubled with too much honesty, and I prefer to settle my own difficulties."
"Take care what you say!" cried the Doctor, whose blood—Irish blood it was—was roused.
"Pshaw! don't mind the poor fool!" muttering which contemptuous expression Allen turned away, but not in time to have escaped a blow with a heavy stick, had it not been averted by the Doctor, who struck up the cudgel with the ax he carried in his hand, and which in descending just grazed the arm of Newcome.
The man's eyes fairly blazed with malice, and instinctively he clutched and half raised his gun, which hitherto had rested against the tree.
"Take care, Newcome! don't shoot!" exclaimed Allen, hastily. "I apologize for my discourteous language, which you were so unwise as to provoke. Let this business stop here, before it comes to something we should all regret;"
"I shouldn't apologize—I'd have the man arrested," cried the Doctor, passionately.
"Have me arrested if you dare!" hissed Newcome, through his clenched teeth. Saying which, he laid his gun on his arm, and stalked into the woods.
The young men stood conversing for a few minutes, undecided what course to pursue with so desperate an enemy, when sharp and loud came two distinct reports, almost in the same moment, and the Doctor fell to the ground, exclaiming, as he fell:
"Allen! my God, I'm shot!"
For a short interval of time the young man was so distracted by the loss of his friend as not to know what course to pursue. But seeing at last that the Doctor had really ceased to live, the necessity of doing something to secure his murderer suggested itself; and despairing of success single-handed in such an undertaking, he set out rapidly for the trading-post, as the nearest point at which help could be obtained.
Soon the whole settlement was engaged in the pursuit, if pursuit it could be called, for the culprit had made no effort to escape, but was found still in the woods, near the spot where the murder was committed. The man eyed those who came to arrest him at first with a defiant scorn; but when told that he was accused of the willful murder of Dr. Henry Edwards, he gave a terrified start, and drooped his head forward as if smitten with a sudden mortal pang.
The dead body of Edwards was conveyed to Fairview, the county town, and laid out in the room where the examination was to be held, before one of the district judges.