To the north and west the hostile Indians, constantly irritated by the encroachments of the white man, had become a growing menace.  The block-houses I beheld were evidences of preparedness against this danger.  And in that day the rumblings of the coming struggle over slavery could already be heard.  Kansas—­very soon afterward “Bleeding Kansas”—­was destined to be an early battleground.  And we were soon to know something of its tragedies.

Free-soil men and pro-slavery men were then ready to rush across the border the minute it was opened for settlement.  Father was a Free-soil man.  His brother Elijah who, as I have said, was a slave-owner, was a believer in the extension of slavery into the new territory.

Knowing that the soldiers I saw today might next week be on their way to battle made my eyes big with excitement.  I could have stayed there forever.  But father had other plans, and we were soon on our way.  With our trading-wagon we climbed a hill—­later named Sheridan’s Ridge for General Philip Sheridan.  From its summit we had a view of Salt Creek Valley, the most beautiful valley I have ever seen.  In this valley lay our future home.

The hill was very steep, and I remember we had to “lock” or chain the wagon-wheels as we descended.  We made camp in the valley.  The next day father began trading with the Indians, who were so pleased with the bargains he had to offer that they sent their friends back to us when they departed.  One of the first trades he made was for a little pony for me—­a four-year-old—­which I was told I should have to break myself.  I named him Prince.  I had a couple of hard falls, but I made up my mind I was going to ride that pony or bust, and—­I did not bust.

The next evening, looking over toward the west, I saw a truly frontier sight—­a line of trappers winding down the hillside with their pack animals.  My mother had often told me of the trappers searching the distant mountains for fur-bearing animals and living a life of fascinating adventure.  Here they were in reality.

While some of the men prepared the skins, others built a fire and began to get a meal.  I watched them cook the dried venison, and was filled with wonder at their method of making bread, which was to wrap the dough about a stick and hold it over the coals till it was ready to eat.  You can imagine my rapture when one of them—­a pleasant-faced youth—­looked up, and catching sight of me, invited me to share the meal.

Boys are always hungry, but I was especially hungry for such a meal as that.  After it was over I hurried to camp and told my father all that had passed.  At his request I brought the young trapper who had been so kind to me over to our camp, and there he had a long talk with father, telling him of his adventures by land and sea in all parts of the world.

He said that he looked forward with great interest to his arrival in Weston, as he expected to meet an uncle, Elijah Cody.  He had seen none of his people for many years.