Libby pushed the thought away, not wanting loneliness for her mother to spoil the sunshine of the day. During the four years after her mother died, Libby lived in Chicago with her aunt. Now Libby felt glad she could be with her Pa again.
When Libby and the boys reached Nate, he stood near his wagon, waiting for them. As Caleb introduced Libby and Jordan, Nate caught Libby’s last name.
“Your pa is the captain?” he asked. “Heard your whistle way out at our farm.” He turned to Caleb. “I knew you were back again.”
“By the sound of the whistle?” Libby felt pleased.
“Yup, clear and deep. I like your bell too. It’s one of the best on the river.”
Nate couldn’t possibly have said anything nicer. Always Libby had been proud of the Christina’s bell. More than once, her father had told Libby how it was made. When the bell was being cast, its makers threw silver dollars into the bronze to give a silvery tone.
“Pa sent me to pick up the plow we ordered from the general store,” Nate explained. “We’ve got time before it’s unloaded, don’t we?”
Caleb nodded. “The freight we brought from St. Louis is down in the hold.”
“Want a ride to see the town?” Nate grinned. “Of all the people in Stillwater I’m the very best one to take you around. I’ll show you the most fun places in the whole St. Croix Valley.”
The Saint Kroy River flowed between Minnesota Territory and the state of Wisconsin. The village of Stillwater was built at the head of the widening in the river called Lake St. Croix.
As Nate went forward to untie the lead rope, he walked around the horses, talking to both Tom and Bob and checking their harness. Then Nate and Jordan climbed up to the only seat, and Caleb helped Libby into the back of the wagon.
Because of the large wheels, the bed of the wagon was about three feet off the ground. Instead of sitting down, Libby and Caleb stood behind Nate and Jordan to see over the high sides of the wagon.
“Giddyup!” Nate called to Tom and Bob, and the horses moved out into the road.
A short distance from the waterfront Nate turned onto a street with tall wooden buildings.
Caleb looked up a steep hill on their left. “There’s Nelson’s Grade!” he exclaimed. “That’s where you took me before. Want to go again?”
Nate shook his head. “Someone just had a bad accident there. I’ll show you the view from a better hill.”
On Main Street the dirt road was filled with mud. As the horses picked their way around large holes, the wagon jerked and bounced in the ruts. Libby grabbed the high board sides and hung on.
“Have you lived here long?” she asked Nate.
“All my life.”
“You must know these hills really well,” Libby said.
“Yup. Lots of caves in ’em. There are caves even in the bluff surrounding Battle Hollow.”
“What’s Battle Hollow?” Libby was curious.
“I’ll show you. It’s a hollowed-out place with steep rock walls. There was a big battle there between the Sioux and Chippewa Indians. That’s where the prison for Minnesota Territory is now.”
Soon Nate turned left onto a street with a gentle rise. A block farther on, the horses turned again, and the bed of the wagon took on a sharp slant. As Tom and Bob leaned into their harness, Libby shifted her feet to keep her balance.
The road ahead was long and steep and followed the edge of a straight-up-and-down bluff. On the right side, the ground dropped sharply away with only a few large rocks between the edge of the road and the drop-off. With most of the trees cut off the hillsides, Libby had a clear view in whatever direction she looked.
The higher they went, the greater the distance between the top and the bottom of the bluff. Seventy-five? One hundred feet? Libby wasn’t sure. She only knew that she felt scared just looking down.
Again Libby braced her feet and clung to the sides of the wagon. To her relief the boards were chest high, giving more protection than usual. But none of the boys seemed to share Libby’s concern. She could only hope that Caleb didn’t see how frightened she felt.
I never knew that heights would bother me so much, Libby thought. I’m glad we’re going up, not down. Then she remembered. What goes up must come down.
Trying to take her mind off the steep drop, Libby asked Nate about the prison.
“Built from a quarry right here in Stillwater,” Nate said proudly. “Trouble is, it doesn’t keep prisoners in. Just last year eight of ’em escaped.”
“Eight?” Jordan asked, as if thinking about his own escape. “How did they git out?”
“It ain’t hard at all,” Nate said. “One prisoner pried up the floor in a hall. Another lifted a cell door from its hinges. Still another used a burglar’s bar.”
“Smuggled in, I bet,” Caleb said.
Nate’s eyes were full of laughter. “Another prisoner sawed through iron window bars. And one guy picked the locks on his chains. Someone else dug a hole through the outside wall.”
“There must be something really wrong,” Caleb said.
Nate grinned. “To my way of thinking the warden just lets ’em go.”
“Are you serious?” Libby asked. “How could someone who is supposed to keep prisoners locked up just let them go?”
Nate shrugged. “Some of the counties don’t pay money to feed their prisoners. We even had a lady escape.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Libby said, not sure what she should believe.
Nate held up his right hand. “The whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It’s as plain as the hair on your head who those prisoners are. Just last week I saw one of them.”
“On the loose?” Libby didn’t like the idea of an escaped prisoner running around. What if one of them tried to board the Christina?
But Nate seemed to have no such dread. “I saw the prisoner down by the river. Half of his hair was the way it should be.”
Libby’s giggle sounded more nervous than she would like. “What do you mean—half of his hair?” She felt sure that Nate was teasing them. “You’re making things up.”
“Nothing funny about it.” Nate looked offended now. “Half of his hair looked just like mine—about the same length. The other half of his head was shaved clean.”
Libby couldn’t even imagine it.
“Not one speck of hair on that side,” Nate said. “That’s how you know who a prisoner is.”
“Do they wear uniforms?” Caleb asked.
“Wel-l-l-l—” Nate thought about it. “They all wear the same thing—gray pants, a shirt, jacket, and cap. But the best way to recognize a prisoner is by his haircut.”
Libby’s knuckles were white now from holding the top board of the wagon. The sharp drop at the edge of the bluff was so close to the wheels that it made her nervous. If she had her way about things, she would get out of the wagon and walk.
When the road finally leveled out, Libby felt relieved. At the top of the bluff Nate stopped the horses. At least he was right about one thing. There couldn’t be a better view anywhere.
Gazing upstream and down, Libby watched the sunlight dance upon the water. Here at the head of Lake St. Croix, masses of logs floated like large islands. On the far side of the lake, the sandstone bluffs of Wisconsin rose high and beautiful.
Libby caught her breath at the beauty. Far below, men hurried up and down the Christina’s gangplank, unloading her cargo. Between the steamboat and Libby, houses clung to the steep hillside.
Like Libby, Caleb and Jordan studied the great stretch of water before them. It wasn’t hard to guess what they were searching for—a steamboat that might bring news about the two-hundred-dollar reward offered for Jordan.
Moments later, as Libby feared, Caleb stretched out his arm, pointing downstream. “Steamboat a-comin’,” he said.
Still far away, small plumes of black smoke rose from two tall stacks. It was a steamboat all right. Which one? And who was on board? People who had never heard of Jordan? Or his enemies?
&
nbsp; When Caleb and Jordan looked at each other, Libby felt sure she knew what they were thinking. Only then did she realize how much she dreaded having the wrong person follow Jordan because he was a fugitive.
As Nate drove on, he stopped the horses on the bluff behind the territorial prison. Here too, the hill in front of them was stripped bare of trees. Libby looked down across the roofs of three-story high buildings that stretched away toward the river.
On the back and two sides the bluff formed a natural hollow around the prison. On Libby’s left, the bluff was straight-up-and-down rock. Directly below her and the boys, the steep hill slanted more gradually away. Between the bottom of the bluff and the buildings was a twelve-foot stone wall.
As Nate pointed toward the warden’s house, a clank broke the stillness of the morning.
What is it? Libby gazed down into the hollow, trying to figure out where the sound came from. In the prison yard everything seemed to be as it had been.
Then Libby heard a second clank—the sound of metal against metal. This time she noticed a pipe railing around the top of the prison wall. Below where she stood something hung from the pipe.
Staring down, Libby decided it was a large hook. A rope hung from the hook, dropping inside the prison wall. While Libby watched, the rope stretched tight.
“Look!” she whispered to Caleb. The rope swayed now, swinging out away from the wall as if someone was climbing up. “A prisoner is trying to escape!”
In the next instant a hand reached up to where the rope showed above the wall. Another hand grasped the pipe, and a half-shaved head appeared.
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