The day started as had every other for the last twelvemonth or so, with Melanie Hogan and her husband Caleb rising before first light to carry out various agricultural activities which had so far showed little or no return; notwithstanding the most strenuous exertions and unremitting efforts on the part of both husband and wife. This morning, their work entailed planting seed which, if the experience of the last year taught them anything at all, was not likely ever to grow to maturity. As they sipped their coffee, the sky outside their little home still almost black, Caleb said, ‘I do not know what is to become of us if there is not soon some rain. That seed we planted three weeks ago shows no sign of sprouting.’
‘Don’t take on so,’ replied his wife, ‘It is not in reason that this dry spell should go on much longer. Not at this time of year.’ Although she spoke these cheery and comforting words in a bright sort of voice, she was desperately worried. Even by going on short commons herself, there was barely enough food to satisfy the children’s hunger. She conceived it as her duty though to reassure her husband and lend him her support in any way possible; even if it meant half starving herself to make what little rations they did have, go a little further.
By the time that Caleb Hogan took the decision to uproot his family and claim his hundred and sixty acres under the Homesteader’s Act in 1876, most of the more fertile and hospitable parts of the Great Plains had already been settled. So it was that his section was in a bleak and windswept corner of Nebraska; almost in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Thirty acres of the hundred and sixty were taken up not by arable land, but by a huge, craggy outcrop of bare rock which loomed above their fields and cast a long shadow over their home in the late afternoon and evening.
The children were not yet awake, so Melanie and her husband talked in hushed voices for fear of disturbing them. Zachariah, who was coming up to fifteen years of age, was almost as much use about the place as a grown man. His sister Elizabeth though was just eleven and still very much a child. It was when she considered the hardships which her children had faced and were like to face for the foreseeable future, that Melanie’s heart became leaden and she half wished that they had never left the cramped, two-room apartment in Independence. Still and all, there it was. For good or ill, they were here now and needs must make the best of things.
After she and Caleb had spent the better part of two hours labouring in the pre-dawn of what promised to be a glorious April morning, they returned to the cabin and Melanie prepared a meagre enough breakfast for the whole family. They had a little milk and some oats and these she boiled up together and brewed another pot of coffee. It was after rousing the children that she glanced out the window and saw that they had company. It was barely seven, which was, thought Melanie, a strange time for anybody to come visiting. She said to her husband, ‘Caleb, there’s three men without as I think wish to speak with us.’
Although he had no particular apprehension of danger, Caleb Hogan stood up and went over to where his fowling piece, an ancient scattergun, hung on the wall. He reached it down, cocked both hammers and then walked out to see what the strangers might be wanting.
The three riders sat at their ease. Although they evidently wished to speak to the occupants of the little soddy, none of them seemed inclined to dismount and knock on the door; preferring simply to wait until the person within the little dwelling came out to wait upon them. Two of the men looked like young cowboys or ranch-hands, being clad in simple, work-clothes. The third presented a very different aspect, being a man in his riper years, perhaps forty-five or fifty years of age. His dress would have been better suited for a railroad journey than going on horseback through farmland; wearing, as he was, a fine suit of dark blue broadcloth. This individual had a pleasant, good-natured and open countenance and when he saw Caleb Hogan emerging from his home, he greeted him cheerily, crying, ‘A very good morning to you, neighbour. I hope it ain’t too early for to be paying calls?’
‘I been up these two hours,’ replied Hogan, ‘It’s not so early as all that.’
This seemed to amuse the man, because he chuckled and said, ‘Well, I reckon that’s set me right! “Go to the ant thou sluggard”, as it says in the Good Book. That would about fit the case here, hey? I’ll allow you got the drop on me there, you farmers put the rest of us to shame with your early rising.’
Caleb Hogan said nothing, but merely stood waiting to see what would next be said. He had had this fellow pointed out to him in town and knew him to be an important landowner, whose property lay away to the north of Hogan’s own land. There were rumours that Andrew McDonald, for that was the fellow’s name, was irked by the proliferation of little farms which were springing up around him now and having the effect of hemming in and environing his pastures. At length, Hogan said, ‘It’s right nice to see you Mr McDonald, but the day is wearing on and I’ve a heap o’ chores to attend. So if you could let me know to what I owe the pleasure of seeing you here today?’
‘Ah, a man after my own heart. You won’t waste words. I’ll come straight to the point. I’ve herds to pasture and I want all the land I can get for them. All these little bits of land which Washington parcels out and gives to you fellows is making my life devilish difficult. Devilish difficult.’
Elsewhere on the plains, not just in Nebraska but also in Wyoming and other territories, there had been bitter ‘range wars’, in which men who had grown wealthy from allowing their cattle to roam wild across the open range became angered by the number of settlers who built fences and blocked off the range. Caleb Hogan had not heard of anything of the sort happening in this part of the country though and wondered uneasily of this was the prelude to a threat. It swiftly proved to be nothing of the kind though, as McDonald at once made plain. He said, ‘I’ve a mind to buy up some of the land which has been farmed hereabouts by honest men like yourself. I’ll pay good cash money for it. Fact is, I’m here to offer you five hundred dollars this very minute, if you’ll sign over your acres to me. I’d say that’s a right generous offer.’
Melanie had come to the door by this time and was standing and listening to what was being said. She knew that it wasn’t her place to interrupt, but could not help but wonder what was going on. Her mind worked rapidly, as she mentally listed all those whose claims actually bordered Andrew McDonald’s land and wondered if they too had been offered five hundred dollars to leave their land. Why, there must be four other settlers living just between here and the edge of McDonald’s spread. Was he handing out thousands of dollars, willy-nilly, to get the sparse and unproductive grassland which comprised the plots of land granted to former soldiers in this area? It didn’t sound likely to her.
Caleb’s mind had perhaps been working towards the same end, for he said slowly, ‘You fixin’ for to purchase every section hereabouts? That’ll cost you a pretty penny and no mistake.’
MacDonald’s smile did not falter. He said, ‘I lay my plans deep. Don’t you set mind to what land I might be acquiring, but just look to your own interest. I’ve five hundred dollars for you this minute, were you only to sign a document which my attorney’ll draw up.’
Rubbing his chin meditatively, Caleb said, ‘Well, I thank you kindly for the offer, but I’m my own master here. I don’t reckon as I’m wanting to go back to working for another. So the answer will have to be no.’
‘No percentage in being hasty,’ replied McDonald, with undiminished amiability, ‘I’ll come by tomorrow and see if we can’t reason that case out to our mutual advantage. Good day to you now.’ With that, he and the other two riders set off north at a gentle trot, as though they had all the time in the world and this little visit had been a matter of small importance to them.
Turning and seeing his wife standing at the door of their home, Hogan said, ‘What do you make to that?’
‘Something don’t listen right about it, is what I think.’
‘I’s thinkin’ the self-same thing, my own self,’ said Hogan, ‘Something here ain’t right. Sides which, I haven’t even proved up on this place. I’ve no legal title to it for another year yet. And why offer me all that money? I’ve a notion that when he comes back tomorrow, he has it in mind to raise the ante and see how much I’ll settle for.’
‘What say one of us ride over and see if he’s made similar offers to others? This place’d be no manner of use to him without others also give up their land. He couldn’t even get his cattle here without trespassing on other’s land; leastways, not as things stand now.’
Under the 1862 Homestead Act, any man who had not taken up arms against the United States government during the War between the States was entitled to claim a hundred and sixty acres of land in the west. All that was required was that he and any dependents lived on the land for five years and improved it by cultivation. Then, he could file title to is and it belonged to him and his descendants in perpetuity. Caleb Hogan knew all this well enough and was accordingly puzzled about the offer of money for surrendering the land on which he and his family were now living. Why, it wasn’t even his and would not be for another four years! Even to sell it would be, from all that he could see, an illegal act.
Later that day, while his wife tended to domestic affairs, Hogan rode over to see what, if anything, his neighbours could tell him. It didn’t take long to discover that not a one of them had been made any offer of the sort which he had received that morning; which immediately aroused his suspicions that there was something irregular about the whole business.
When first the family arrived in Nebraska a year earlier, travelling in an open wagon hauled by a pair of oxen, they found nothing but a hundred and thirty acres of flat, scrubby grassland; with the rocky bluff towering above it. A fresh water stream flowed from the bluff and meandered through their land, which was a mercy, for it mean that whatever else they lacked, there was no shortage of potable water. Like everybody else, the Hogan’s constructed a small hut by cutting up rectangular blocks of turf to use as bricks. Because these were cut from the sod, such dwellings became known colloquially as ‘soddies’. For the next year, life was one long and unremitting grind of hard work and severely restricted rations. To begin with it had all seemed worthwhile, because Caleb Hogan was no longer beholden to any employer for his daily bread. Lately though, both he and his wife were beginning to wonder if the game was worth the hardships which were part and parcel of being a pioneer in those parts. A drought had gripped the plains for much of the winter and planted seed showed no present sign of germinating; despite its being springtime.
After her husband had ridden off to see what might be happening elsewhere in the district, as regarded any other generous offers being made for uncultivated land, Melanie Hogan attempted, not for the first time, to teach her daughter the correct way of kneading dough and turning it into something resembling a loaf of bread. As she set out the board and took out the sack of flour, she said to her son, ‘Zac, I want you to take this here pail and fetch water from the stream. You’re to spend an hour or so watering those seeds which your Pa and I planted ‘fore you and your sister had even stirred from your slumbers.’
‘Lordy Ma, way the ground is now, it’s dry as a bone. A drop o’ water won’t help none. It’ll run straight off. We need a rainstorm or two to do any good.’
His mother looked at him and said, ‘You think I don’t know that? It’ll be better than nothing though. Off you go, now.’
The boy seemed disposed to linger, and at the door he paused and said, ‘What did those men want earlier?’
‘I don’t rightly know and that’s the truth of the matter. Something’s afoot and I don’t know what. Your father’s gone off to ask around. Off with you now.’
Two things emerged clearly from Caleb Hogan’s visits with his neighbours. First off was where not one of them had been offered a single cent to vacate their land; he alone had been favoured with such an offer. This in itself was quite sufficient to cause Hogan to smell a rat and suspect that something queer was going on. The second point was that, like him, the other settlers were almost at breaking point and a number were considering abandoning their claims and returning to civilisation. If he was any judge of such things, Hogan guessed that unless there was a dramatic turnabout in fortunes, then within a year at most, this part of the plains would be all but deserted again. Which made Andrew McDonald’s offer of such a large sum of money all the more puzzling. A little before midday, Hogan turned the mare round and headed back home to eat.
After he had apprised his wife of what had passed between him and those who lived nigh to them, the afternoon was spent in the usual round of activity. The children collected stones from the ground which had lately been broken for the first time since Creation by having a plough dragged across it, Hogan himself led the oxen in this endeavour while his wife busied herself in trying to put together some kind of meal for them, when the day’s work was completed. They had hardly any lamp-oil left and so the whole family had taken to retiring at nightfall; as soon as there was no longer enough light to work by.
The previous day, Hogan had brought down a small buck and this meant that the meal that evening was an uncommonly fine one; with as much meat to eat as any of the family could desire. True, there were no side vegetables, but with some of the bread which had been baked that day, they were all able to fill their bellies. While they ate, Hogan remarked, ‘Something’s not right about that affair this morning. It troubles me.’
‘Like as not, it don’t signify overmuch,’ replied his wife reassuringly, although she too was uneasy about the business, ‘They do say as some folk has more money than sense.’
‘Happen so, but there’s a mystery there. I don’t like it.’
After they had all eaten their fill and the wares were washed up and stacked away, Hogan led his family in prayer. He was a devout man and one of the reasons that he had wished to leave Independence and come out here into the wilderness was that he viewed some of the goings on in the city as being on a par with what had been seen in the olden days in Sodom and Gommorah. He knew how that had ended and wished to lead his folks to safety from the wrath that he thought might be about to descend from the Lord.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Caleb Hogan, ‘We thank you for all your mercies, specially giving us full bellies this day. Protect us from evil and help us all to grow in righteousness day by day. We ask all this in the name of your son, who came to save us.’ After this short act of thanksgiving, he and his wife and children retired for the night.
Three hours after they had all laid themselves down to sleep, Melanie was awoken by the flickering glare of flames outside. She did not at first understand what this might portend, but before she could rise and go to the window to see what was going on, there came a fusillade of shots; one of which penetrated the turf wall, sending a shower of powdery earth over her.
The shots woke Caleb, who sprang to his feet and snatched down his scattergun. Melanie cried out in alarm, ‘Caleb, don’t rush out there. It could be anybody.’
The children had also been woken by the gunfire and were sitting up; bewildered and scared. Instructing them to stay where they were and not to stand up, Melanie hurried after her husband, who had marched angrily out through the door to confront whoever was firing near his home. She reached the door a second or two after Caleb and stood on the threshold for a moment; unable fully to understand the scene before her.
There were a half-dozen riders gathered outside and some of them were carrying flaring torches which gave off a pleasant aroma. She guessed that these were pine knots which they had kindled before announcing their presence by loosing off their weapons. A disconcerting circumstance was that each man’s face was concealed by an old sugar sack, in which large, ragged holes had been cut so that they might see out. When she had been a little girl, such things had been known as ‘spook masks’. It was plain as could be that these men were up to no good, but what business they might have with she and her husband was more than Melanie Hogan was able to fathom.
Caleb stood in the flickering torchlight, looking round at the men, trying to figure out the play. He held the shotgun ready in his arms; not pointing at anybody in particular, but clearly ready to bring it up to aim should the need arise. He said loudly and with no trace of fear in his voice, ‘One o’ you boys care to tell me what’s a goin’ on?’ There was no answer.
There was something eerie about those six riders, just sitting there without speaking. Even the masks, the kind of thing that children make to play with, seemed somehow sinister. Hogan spoke again, saying, ‘Well, if’n you’re none of you going to oblige me with an explanation, then maybe you’d all care to get off my land?’
Just when it appeared to Melanie that the whole thing was just a piece of nonsense and something they might all laugh about in the morning, one of the riders raised a carbine which he had evidently been holding loosely and out of sight and fired a single shot at the ground. By ill chance, the ball struck a rock on the ground and ricocheted upwards; taking Caleb Hogan in the chest. For a moment or two, he struggled to remain upright and it looked as though he was minded to fire back with the shotgun, but it was all that he could do to stay on his feet. After wavering for a few seconds, the weapon fell from his nerveless fingers and he collapsed to the ground. At that moment, one of the riders shouted a word of command and the whole troop of them wheeled round and cantered off into the night; flinging their burning brands away as they rode off.
Melanie rushed to her husband and knelt down at his side. There was a new moon, which meant that the only illumination came from the sparse gleam of starlight. She called back over her shoulder to her son, who was now standing in the doorway; fearful perhaps of coming all the way out into the open, ‘Light the lamp and fetch it. Hurry now!’
Caleb was breathing heavily, and she could hear a rasping, gurgling sound each time he drew in air. A cold hand seemed to clutch at her heart, for she had worked in a hospital during the war and the noise that she now heard did not, to her ears, presage good news. ‘I didn’t think as they’d shoot me,’ said her husband in a surprised tone, ‘I thought they was only hoping to scare us.’
‘Hush now, don’t tire yourself by talking. Where’s that boy got to with that blamed lamp?’ At this moment, Zachariah emerged, with the lamp, which shed its soft glow over the little tableau of husband and wife. Melanie said, ‘Fetch it closer, son. I want to see what’s what.’ Now that she had a clearer view of the wound which her husband had taken, she was anything but comforted. Just as she had suspicioned from the bubbling sound when he sucked in his breath, the wound was in his chest; a little to the right of centre. She was no physician, but guessed at once that it had struck the lung on that side. Trying to keep up Caleb’s spirits, she said lightly, ‘Ah tush, it’s no more’n a scratch. I’ll warrant you took worse than that in the war and scarcely broke step.’
Her husband was not deceived. He smile crookedly and said, ‘You allus was a terrible liar! I know what mischief is wrought. Even had we a doctor near at hand, this’d do for me.’
‘Don’t say so,’ said Melanie despairingly, ‘I say it will be fine.’
The two children had both come out now and were looking down on their father, where he lay dying. He said with a faltering voice, ‘The two o’ you bend down. I’d give you my blessing.’ The boy and girl knelt down; both had tears in their eyes, for they had sensed that this was the end for their pa. Caleb smiled at them and said, ‘Zac, you look after your ma. And you Betty, do as you’re bid by your mother, you hear me now?’ Both of them nodded dumbly, their hearts too filled with sorrow to speak. Then, as peacefully as if he was laying in his bed and drifting off to sleep, Caleb Hogan closed his eyes, took one long, shuddering breath, let it out slowly and did not again draw breath.
The three figures kneeling beside the corpse did not move for a full minute. Even Melanie, usually so practical and resourceful, had not the least notion how to proceed further. It slowly dawned upon her that she was now utterly alone and wholly responsible for her children’s welfare and lives. She felt as though the weight of this was crushing her down. Always, Caleb had been there to aid and support her; taking the chief of any burden upon his own broad shoulders. She said, ‘There’s no point in any of us trying to sleep more this night. You two go into the house now and I’ll make provision for your pa.’
Even as she spoke, Melanie was working out that she would need to report this affair to somebody in town. There was no regular law in Benton’s Crossing, the town was too small for that, but there was a Justice and also a minister. Maybe one of those would do. She would also have to arrange, she supposed for a funeral. While she was thinking all this, Melanie Hogan marvelled at her own calmness. It was as though she were outside this disaster and looking down upon those enduring it. If it were not so, then she would have run around, screaming like a madwoman. What she and her children would do next, she had no idea at all. She’d no living kin, other than those who lived some miles to the east, along the Niobrava. It would hardly be possible to expect any help from them, considering their current circumstances. Well, that would all keep until after the funeral. Again, she was amazed that the word could come into her head and not drive her frantic with horror and fear. I guess that’s what it’s like, she thought calmly, when there are children to care for. Your own grief has to be set to one side, until a more convenient time.
It was a grim enough night and neither she nor her son or daughter ever forgot the horror of it. In later years, all three of them would use that night as a touchstone for any bad experience which they were undergoing. Whatever it was, when compared with those dreadful hours between the murder of Caleb Hogan and the rising of the sun the following day, any other trial paled into trifling insignificance.
At one point, Elizabeth said, ‘What’s daddy doing now outside? Won’t he be cold?’ It struck her mother that the child did not really have any understanding of death; how should she, never having encountered it before?
Melanie said to the child, ‘Your pa’s gone to join those who have been promoted to glory, Betty. He’s with the Lord now. You know how powerful strong he was for Jesus? Why, that’s why he wanted to name the two of your Zachariah and Elizabeth.’
This promised to take the little girl’s thoughts away from the death of her father, for she said, ‘Remind me again, Ma. Who are we named after?’
‘Why, John the Baptist’s mother and father, of course. Zachariah and Elizabeth had given up on having any children, for she was growing old. But the Lord gave her a baby at about the same time that Mary was a carrying of Jesus. Elizabeth and Mary were cousins, you know.’
Somehow, the night wore away until dawn and Melanie prepared breakfast for them all before harnessing up the oxen to the wagon and drawing her dead husband’s body to town to make any necessary arrangements.