The Surveyor of the lands of Pottawattomie Creek was shaping theorganization of a band of followers.
To this little group, composed as yet of his own sons in the main, hetalked of his work, his great duty, his mission with mystic elation. Asingle idea was slowly fixing itself in his mind as the purpose of life.
It was fast becoming an obsession.
He slept but little. The night before he had slept but two hours. Whenthe camp supper had been prepared, he stood with bare head in the midstof his followers and thanked God. The meal was eaten to-night in a grimsilence which Brown did not break once. The supper over, he rose andagain returned thanks to the Bountiful Giver.
And then he left the camp without a word. Alone he tramped the prairiebeneath the starlit sky of a beautiful May night. Hour after hour hepaused and prayed. Always the one refrain came from his stern lips:
"Give me, oh, Lord God, the Vision!"And he would wait with eyes set on the stars for its revelation. Hecrouched at last against the trunk of a tree in a little ravine nearthe camp. It was past three o\'clock. William Walker, who was acting hissecond in command, was still waiting his orders for the following day.
He saw Brown enter the ravine at one o\'clock. Impatient of his endlesswandering, tired and sleepy, he decided to follow his Chief and ask hisorders.
He found him in a sitting posture, leaning against a blackjack, hisrifle across his knees. Walker called softly and received no response.
He approached and laid his hand on his shoulder.
Instantly he leaped to his feet, his rifle at his follower\'s breast, hisfinger on the trigger.
"My God!" Walker yelled.
His speech was too late to stop the pressure of the finger. Walkerpushed the muzzle up and the ball grazed his shoulder. The leadergripped his follower\'s arm, stared at him a moment and merely grunted:
"Oh!"When the day dawned a new man was found to act as second in command.
Walker had deserted his queer chieftain.
The old man entered the camp at dawn, the light of determination in hiseyes and a new set to his jaw. His first plan of the Pottawattomie wasright. The turn toward Lawrence had been a waste of time. He selectedsix men to accompany him on his mission, his four sons who had madeup the Surveyor\'s party, his son-in-law, Henry Thompson, and TheodoreWeiner. Owen, Salmon, Oliver and Frederick Brown knew every foot of theground. They had carried the chain, set the markers and flags and keptthe records.
He called his men in line and issued his first command:
"To the house of James Townsley."Townsley belonged to the Pottawattomie Rifles of which organization hisson, John Jr., was the Captain.
Arrived at the house, Brown drew Townsley aside and spoke in a vague,impersonal manner.
"I hear there is trouble expected on the Pottawattomie.""Is there?""We hear it.""What are you going to do?""March to their rescue. Will you help us?""How?""Harness your team of grays and take our party to Pottawattomie.""All right."The old man found a grindstone and ordered the ugly cutlasses whichhe had brought from Ohio to be sharpened. He stood over the stone andwatched it turned until each edge was as keen as a butcher\'s blade.
It began to dawn on the two younger sons before the grinding of theswords was finished what their father had determined.
Frederick asked Oliver tremblingly:
"What do you think of this thing?""It looks black to me.""It looks hellish to me.""I\'m not going.""Nor am I."They promptly reported the decision to their father.
His eyes flamed.
"It\'s too late to retreat now!""We\'re not going," was the sullen answer in chorus.
The father gripped the two with his hard hands and held them as in avise.
"You will not put me to shame now before these men. You will go withme--do you hear?"His tones rang with the quiver of steel and the boys\' wills weakened.
Frederick said finally:
"We\'ll go with you then, but we\'ll take no part in what you do.""Agreed," was the stern answer.
He turned to Oliver and said:
"Give me your revolver. I may need it.""It\'s mine," the boy replied. "I\'ll not give it up."The old man looked the stalwart figure over in a quick glance ofappraisement. Brown had been a man of iron strength in his day buthis shoulders were stooped and he knew he was no match for the fiercestrength of youth. Yet his hesitation was only for an instant.
With the sudden spring of a panther he leaped on the boy and attemptedto take the pistol by force. The son resisted with fury.
Frederick, alarmed lest the pistol should be discharged in the struggle,managed to slip it from his brother\'s belt.
The match was not equal.
Youth was master in the appeal to brute strength. At North Elba thefather had once thrown thirty lumbermen in a day, one after the other,in a wrestling match. He summoned the last ounce of strength now tosubdue his rebellious son.
Frederick watched the contest with painful anxiety. His own mind was notstrong. He had already given evidences of insanity that had distressedhis brother. If Oliver should kill his father or the old man should killthe brother! He couldn\'t face the hideous possibility. Yet he couldn\'tstop them.
Fortunately there were no other witnesses to the fight. Townsley wasbusy at the stable with the team. Weiner and Thompson had gone into thehouse to complete their packing of provisions for the journey.
In tones of blind anguish Frederick followed the two desperatestruggling men.
"Don\'t do this, Father!"The old man made no answer save to swing his agile son\'s frame to oneside in another futile effort to throw him to the ground.
Not a word escaped his lips. His eyes flashed and glittered with theuncertain glare of a maniac in the moments when the iron muscles of theson pinned his arms and held his wiry body rigid.
Again Frederick\'s low pleading could be heard. This time to his brother:
"Can\'t you stop it, Oliver?""How can I?""For God\'s sake stop it--stop it!""I can\'t stop it. Don\'t ye see he\'s got me and I\'ve got to hold him."The consciousness of failing strength drove the father to fury. Hisbreath was coming now in shorter gasps. He knew his chances of successwere fading. He yielded for a moment, and ceased to struggle. A cunninglook crept into his eyes.
The boy relaxed his vigilance. The old man felt the boy\'s grip ease.
With a sudden thrust of his body he summoned the last ounce of strength,and threw his son to the ground.
The boy laughed a devilish cry of the strong with the weak as he fell.
Before he touched the ground he had deftly turned the father\'s bodybeneath his and the full weight of his two hundred pounds fairly crushedthe breath from the older man.
A groan of rage and despair was wrung from his stern lips. But no wordescaped him. Frederick rushed to the prostrate figures, seized Oliver bythe shoulders and tore his grip loose.
"This is foolish!" he stormed.
No sooner had Brown risen than he plunged again at his son. The boy hadbeen playing with him to this time. The half of his strength was yet inreserve. A little angry grunt came from his lips, and his father was achild in his hands. With sure, quick movement he pinioned both arms andjammed him against the wheel of the wagon. He held him there for aninstant helpless to resist or move.
The last cry of despairing command came from Brown\'s soul.
"Let go of me, sir!"The boy merely growled a bulldog\'s answer.
"Not till you agree to behave yourself."Another desperate contraction of muscles and the order came more feebly.
"Will you let go of me, sir?""Will you behave yourself?""Yes," came the sullen answer.
The boy relaxed his grip and stood ready for action.
"All right, then.""You can keep your pistol.""I intend to.""But you are not to use it, sir, without my orders.""I am not going to use it at all, except in self-defense.""............