LOST WITH
LIEUTENANT PIKE
SECOND IMPRESSION
_The American Trail Blazers_
“THE STORY GRIPS AND THE HISTORY STICKS”
These books present in the form of vivid and fascinating fiction, the
early and adventurous phases of American history. Each volume deals
with the life and adventures of one of the great men who made that
history, or with some one great event in which, perhaps, several heroic
characters were involved. The stories, though based upon accurate
historical fact, are rich in color, full of dramatic action, and appeal
to the imagination of the red-blooded man or boy.
Each volume illustrated in color and black and white
12mo. Cloth.
LOST WITH LIEUTENANT PIKE
GENERAL CROOK AND THE FIGHTING APACHES
OPENING THE WEST WITH LEWIS AND CLARK
WITH CARSON AND FREMONT
DANIEL BOONE: BACKWOODSMAN
BUFFALO BILL AND THE OVERLAND TRAIL
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH
DAVID CROCKETT: SCOUT
ON THE PLAINS WITH CUSTER
GOLD SEEKERS OF ’49
WITH SAM HOUSTON IN TEXAS
[Illustration: “IT’S THE WRONG PEAK, MEN――YES, THE WRONG PEAK”]
LOST WITH
LIEUTENANT PIKE
HOW FROM THE PAWNEE VILLAGE THE BOY NAMED SCAR
HEAD MARCHED WITH THE YOUNG AMERICAN CHIEF CLEAR
INTO THE SNOWY MOUNTAINS; HOW IN THE DEAD OF WINTER
THEY SEARCHED FOR THE LOST RIVER AND THOUGHT THAT
THEY HAD FOUND IT; AND HOW THE SPANISH SOLDIERY
CAME UPON THEM AND TOOK THEM DOWN TO SANTA FÉ OF
NEW MEXICO, WHERE ANOTHER SURPRISE AWAITED THEM
BY
EDWIN L. SABIN
AUTHOR OF “GENERAL CROOK AND THE FIGHTING APACHES,”
“OPENING THE WEST WITH LEWIS AND CLARK,”
“BUFFALO BILL AND THE OVERLAND TRAIL,” ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY_
CHARLES H. STEPHENS
_PORTRAIT AND A MAP_
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1919, J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.
TO THOSE
COUNTLESS OTHER AMERICANS
WHO IN 1917 AND 1918 BRAVELY FOLLOWED, LIKE YOUNG
LIEUTENANT PIKE, THE TRAIL OF HONOR, FLAG AND DUTY
I. Always preserve your honor free from blemish.
II. Be ready at all times to die for your country.
General Pike’s rules for his little son.
FOREWORD
This story takes the adventure trail of that young soldier-explorer
Zebulon Montgomery Pike, who was lost in the mountains of southern
Colorado one hundred years ago. Another story in the Trail Blazers
Series has told of Captains Lewis and Clark, who explored the
northwestern part of the new Louisiana Territory. They, also, were
young. Captain Lewis had just turned thirty. But Lieutenant and Captain
Zebulon Pike was younger yet. He was only twenty-seven when, while
Lewis and Clark were still out, he was sent to lead a handful of men
into the unknown Southwest.
The vast Province of Louisiana, bought by the United States from France
three years before, for $15,000,000, was thought by the United States
to extend, in the north, from the Mississippi River to the Rocky
Mountains; in the south it tapered off to the Gulf of Mexico at New
Orleans.
The southwestern boundary was uncertain. The United States claimed
clear to the lower Rio Grande River, across Texas; Spain, which had
owned Louisiana Territory before the United States bought it from
France, claimed north even to the Missouri River. Some said that the
Arkansas River of southern Colorado should be the boundary, there; some
said the Red River, further south――which was confused with the Canadian
River. And when Lieutenant Pike was started out, the United States
soldiers and the Spanish soldiers of Mexico faced each other across the
Sabine River of the western border of Louisiana State.
So the trail of young Pike and his handful of men pointed into a
debated land. If the Indians did not get them, the Spanish might. He
had been instructed not to offend the Spanish, and to keep away from
their settlements of New Mexico; but he was resolved to stand his
ground when he deemed that he was in the right, and to defend the Flag.
The Spanish had sent six hundred soldiers, with over two thousand
horses and mules, to look for him. He would certainly have fought them
all, with his twenty men, had they tried to stop him anywhere outside
of New Mexico.
No braver soldiers ever marched than Lieutenant Pike and his little
platoon. They lost their way; they struggled with cold below zero and
snow to their waists, in the bleak high mountains. They had left home
with only summer clothing; they were ragged and lean, and their feet
froze until the bones came out. They went days at a time without food.
And they were utterly lost, in a winter country; alone, one thousand
miles from home.
But only once did a single man complain aloud. Their wonderful leader
sternly silenced him, by reminding him that they all were sharing and
suffering alike.
When their lieutenant had been gone from them two days, seeking meat
to relieve a famine, at his return he writes in his journal: “On the
countenances of the men was not a frown, nor was there a desponding
eye; all seemed happy to hail their officer and companions; yet not a
mouthful had they eaten for four days.” Indeed, they were planning to
send out and rescue _him_.
It was this same spirit which made the American soldiers in France
press forward, ever forward, and yield not an inch of ground.
Lieutenant Pike was an officer to love as well as to respect. He asked
no favors; only obedience, and willingness to endure what he had to
endure. He never spared himself. While others might stay in camp, he it
was that went out into the cold and snow, hunting for meat. He made it
plain that his honor, his country and his duty were more to him than
his life. These were the three ideals that inspired him to go on when
he might have been excused for camping in safety and giving up his
search for the Red River.
The name of Pike lives in history. We have a famous mountain
named for him, and we know that he died――“killed in action”――as a
brigadier-general, aged thirty-four. The names of his brave men have
vanished. What became of John Sparks, Pat Smith, Jacob Carter, and the
rest, we do not know. We do not know that the Government even rescued
from the Spaniards those whom their lieutenant had been obliged to
leave. We do not know that any of them received gifts of land and extra
pay, such as the Lewis and Clark men received. But heroes they were,
every one, who did not fail their leader nor their flag.
So their company roll is printed in this book, that they also may live
again.
THE AUTHOR
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE COMING OF THE SPANIARDS 19
II. THE COMING OF THE AMERICANS 36
III. THE PAWNEES ARE OF TWO MINDS 52
IV. ON THE TRAIL OF THE SPANIARDS 70
V. THE CHASE OF THE BIG ELK 85
VI. LIEUTENANT WILKINSON SAYS GOOD-BY 99
VII. “THE MOUNTAINS! THE MOUNTAINS!” 112
VIII. BAD HEARTS IN THE WAY 127
IX. A TRY AT THE “GRAND PEAK” 139
X. ONWARD INTO WINTER 156
XI. SEEKING THE LOST RIVER 167
XII. IS IT FOUND AT LAST? 176
XIII. MEAT FOR THE CAMP 187
XIV. A TRAIL OF SURPRISES 200
XV. NOT YET DEFEATED 225
XVI. BLOCKED BY THE GREAT WHITE MOUNTAINS 237
XVII. THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS 250
XVIII. VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH 261
XIX. IN THE HANDS OF THE SPANIARDS 275
XX. STUB REACHES END O’ TRAIL 289
XXI. GOOD-BY TO LIEUTENANT PIKE 306
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“It’s the Wrong Peak, Men――Yes, the Wrong Peak”
_Frontispiece_
Lieutenant Zebulon Montgomery Pike 15
“I Bring You the American Flag” 55
Whang! It Buried Itself Almost Out of Sight Behind the
Elk Chief’s Ribs 97
But Stub Never Felt the Final Crash 203
“In My Proper Character, Sir: An Officer of the United
States Army” 298
MAP
The Trail of Lieutenant Pike 19
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT ZEBULON MONTGOMERY PIKE
From the First Edition of His “Expeditions” Philadelphia, 1810]
BRIGADIER-GENERAL ZEBULON MONTGOMERY PIKE
A noble young American soldier and explorer, whose guiding purpose was:
Honor, Country, Duty.
Born January 5, 1779, at Lamberton, near Trenton, New Jersey.
His father was Captain Zebulon Pike, of the Fourth Continental
Dragoons, in the War of the Revolution; later major in the
Third and the First Regiments of Infantry, U. S. A., and brevet
lieutenant-colonel.
The boy Zebulon was brought up as a soldier.
At fifteen he was a cadet in his father’s infantry regiment of the
United States Third Sub-Legion.
At twenty, or in March, 1799, he was commissioned second lieutenant in
the Second Regiment of Infantry, U. S. A.
Commissioned first lieutenant, November, the same year.
Transferred to the First Infantry, of which his father was major, in
April, 1802. In this regiment Meriwether Lewis, of the famous Lewis and
Clark expedition to the mouth of the Columbia River, was then a captain.
At the age of twenty-six, while Captains Lewis and Clark are exploring
through the far northwest of the new Louisiana Territory purchase, he
receives orders, July 30, 1805, from General James Wilkinson, Chief of
the Army, to ascend the Mississippi River from St. Louis to its source.
He is to report upon the country, the Indians and the fur trade of
this, the eastern border of Upper Louisiana.
Starts from St. Louis, August 9, 1805, with twenty enlisted men of the
regular army, in a keel-boat seventy feet long, provisioned for four
months. Suffers many hardships by storm, cold and hunger, but returns
successful on the last day of April, 1806, after an absence of almost
nine months.
In less than two months, or on June 24, 1806, he is directed to ascend
the Missouri and Osage Rivers, and restore forty-six Osage Indians,
rescued by the Government from the Potawatomi Indians, to their people
of the Osage towns in western Missouri. He is to make peace, by order
of their American father, between the Osage and the Kansas nations. He
is then to continue to the Pawnees of present northern Kansas, and ask
them to help him on to make peace with the Comanches in the southwest
on the borders of New Mexico. While with the Comanches he is to explore
the head-waters of the Arkansas and Red (Canadian) Rivers, but he must
avoid trespassing upon the Spanish territory of New Mexico. Spanish
territory is supposed to extend south from the Red River, although the
Spanish claim that it extends much farther north, even through Kansas.
Again he leaves his family, and embarks, July 15, 1806, with First
Lieutenant James B. Wilkinson, First Infantry, the son of General
Wilkinson; Civilian Surgeon John H. Robinson, an interpreter, and
eighteen enlisted men, in two boats. The majority of the enlisted men
had been with him up the Mississippi.
He visits the Osages, who welcome the return of their relatives, and
agree to peace with the Kansas. The Pawnees try to stop him, by order
of the Spanish, but he defies them. He fails to find the Comanches. His
march by horse and foot takes him along the Arkansas River clear to the
Rocky Mountains, where he sights the great Pike’s Peak (later named
for him) of Colorado, and attempts to climb it. Searching for the head
of the Red River, that he may follow down to the military posts of the
United States frontier, he loses his way completely. In the bitter cold
and deep snows of a terrible winter he crosses the front range of the
Rockies, and builds a stockade upon a stream of the Upper Rio Grande
River in the lower end of the San Luis Valley, southern Colorado.
Here in mid-winter Spanish soldiers from Santa Fé come upon him and
inform him that he is in Spanish territory. They take him down to
Santa Fé, the capital of the Province of New Mexico. He is sent on
down to the military headquarters at Chihuahua, Mexico. From there
he is sent to the United States, and arrives at the American post of
Natchitoches, western Louisiana, on July 1, 1807, after travels of a
year.
As the first Government explorer through far southwestern Louisiana
Territory he brings back much valuable information upon the country and
Indians, and upon the people, military forces and customs of Mexico.
Captains Lewis and Clark have brought back also their information upon
the far Northwest.
Meanwhile, as a reward for his services, he had been promoted to
captain, August 12, 1806.
Commissioned major, in the Sixth U. S. Infantry, May, 1808.
Commissioned lieutenant-colonel, Fourth U. S. Infantry, December, 1809.
Commissioned colonel, Fifteenth U. S. Infantry, July, 1812.
Appointed brigadier-general, adjutant-general and inspector-general, U.
S. A., March, 1813.
Killed in action, April 27, 1813, while commanding the assault by the
American troops upon York, at Toronto, Canada. The retreating British
garrison blew up a powder magazine, and a fragment of rock crushed his
back. He died wrapped in the Flag, amidst victory, at the age of only
thirty-four.
THE PIKE PARTIES
UP THE MISSISSIPPI (1805–1806)
First Lieutenant Zebulon M. Pike, Commanding
Pierre Rousseau, Interpreter
Sergeant Henry Kennerman (reduced to the ranks)
Corporals
Samuel Bradley
William E. Meek
_Privates_
Jeremiah Jackson
John Boley
Thomas Dougherty
Solomon Huddleston
Theodore Miller
Alexander Roy
Patrick Smith
John Brown
Jacob Carter
David Whelply
William Gordon
John Mountjoy
Hugh Menaugh
John Sparks
Freegift Stout
David Owings
Peter Branden
INTO THE SOUTHWEST (1806–1807)
First Lieutenant (and Captain) Zebulon M. Pike, Commanding
First Lieutenant James B. Wilkinson (descended the Arkansas
River)
Civilian Volunteer, Doctor John H. Robinson (went through)
Baroney Vasquez, Interpreter (went through)
Sergeants
Joseph Ballenger (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
William E. Meek (went through)
Corporal Jeremiah Jackson (went through)
Private John Brown (went through)
Private Jacob Carter (went through)
Private Thomas Dougherty (went through)
Private William Gordon (went through)
Private Theodore Miller (went through)
Private Hugh Menaugh (went through)
Private John Mountjoy (went through)
Private Alexander Roy (went through)
Private John Sparks (went through)
Private Patrick Smith (went through)
Private Freegift Stout (went through)
Private John Boley (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
Private Samuel Bradley (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
Private Solomon Huddleston (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
Private John Wilson (accompanied Lieutenant Wilkinson)
Private Henry Kennerman (deserted)
[Illustration: THE TRAIL OF LIEUTENANT PIKE]
LOST WITH LIEUTENANT PIKE
I
THE COMING OF THE SPANIARDS
“Ai-ee! I see them!” panted Iskatappe, over his shoulder, and pointing
to the west. “The Spanish!”
“It may be running buffalo, or a big wind,” answered Skidi.
“Shall we halt and wait?” proposed Letalesha.
“No. It is they. It does not move fast enough for buffalo or wind. It
is on this side of the river. We will cross the river and hide on the
other side. Then we will be safe,” ordered Iskatappe.
Boy Scar Head, at the rear, peered hard and he, too, sighted a dust
cloud far westward, tinging the horizon above the rolling, sandy
landscape.
This was the Corn month, July, 1806. The four were travelling in single
file at fast dog-trot down through the northern end of Texas where the
Canadian River crosses. Iskatappe, or Rich Man, led. He was second
chief of the nation. Skidi, or Wolf, came next. He was a warrior.
Letalesha, or Old Knife, trotted third. He was a sub-chief. And at the
rear there trotted Scar Head, who was not yet even a warrior, because
he was just a boy; but some day he should be a warrior, and a chief, if
he proved brave and smart.
They were odd-looking Indians, clad in only moccasins and buffalo-robes.
The three men had their heads closely shaven except for a short
pompadour ridge like a rooster comb, ending in the scalp-lock. With a
paste of buffalo tallow and red clay this scalp-lock was made to stand
up stiff and curved forward in shape of a horn. By that sign, and by the
sign of their travelling afoot, and by their tall stature and high
cheek-bones, friends and enemies would have known them at once as
Pawnees from a nation of fierce fighters.
However, nobody would have taken Scar Head for a Pawnee. He did not
wear the horn――he was not yet a warrior. He wore a red cloth band
around his head, to keep his long brown hair out of his eyes. He was
short and stocky, with a pug nose and with freckles showing through his
darkly tanned skin. No, he did not appear to be a Pawnee, nor an Indian
at all.
Still, he ranked as a son of Charakterik, head chief of the Pawnee
Republic nation. Chief Charakterik had sent him out on the warrior
trail to get experience. He was called Scar Head by reason of the
patch of white hair that grew over a queer, hot spot on his head. He
felt like an Indian and acted like an Indian; but all he knew was that
he had been traded by the mountain Utahs to the plains Pawnees, several
years ago, and that Chief Charakterik had adopted him.
The four had set out from the main Pawnee Republic village of round mud
huts on the Republican River in present northern Kansas two weeks back.
The Pawnees always started from home on foot, except when hunting game.
They thought that they could take care of themselves better that way. A
man on foot could hide in country where a man on horse might be seen.
But they were expected to return on horseback, with other horses stolen
or captured, for to win horses was the test of a Pawnee brave.
Scar Head hoped to learn a great deal about horse-stealing, although
this was not really a horse-stealing scout. Nevertheless――――
“If we are not given horses by the Spaniards, we will get them
elsewhere,” had said Rich Man.
“Yes; we will get them from the Spaniards, anyway,” had replied Skidi.
“They will have many horses, easy to steal. But in order to keep
friendly with us, they will surely give us some, when they see we are
poor and afoot.”
The dust cloud was welcome. It was time that the Spaniards should be
sighted――those Spanish soldiers who, according to the report received
by Chief Charakterik, were marching from New Mexico into the Indian
country, no one knew why. To find out was the business of the Iskatappe
squad.
The dust cloud hung in the air, moving slowly with the distant breeze.
When finally the four reached the bank of the river, the cloud was much
nearer.
“We will cross, and watch them; and to-night we will go into their
camp,” said Iskatappe.
So they swam and waded the shallow river, and crawled out into a clump
of willows, to wait until the strangers should pass.
Soon, to the west they might see a column of mounted figures coming on,
following the course of the river but staying back from it on account
of the deep washes, or maybe from fear that their thirsty horses might
bolt into quicksands.
“They are many times ten,” murmured Skidi, counting by the fingers on
his hands.
“It is only an advance guard,” Letalesha said. “A bigger dust cloud is
behind them.”
And that was so. The advance guard of horsemen seemed to be scouting
along the river, as if seeking a good trail to water for the others.
Boy Scar Head strained his eyes to see as much as the warriors saw.
Over the yellow desert shimmering with the hot air the riders steadily
cantered, under several fluttering pennons borne on lances; and anybody
might tell by the way they rode that they were warriors themselves.
They were going to strike the river only a short distance below.
Suddenly Skidi drew quick breath.
“Apaches! Look! It will be a fight.”
“Hi!” Iskatappe uttered. “Let nobody move. We are safe here, if we
don’t move.”
The scene had changed in a twinkling. A perfect swarm of Indians had
burst from the very ground out there, and with shrill yells were racing
to hem the Spanish between them and the river. How they had hidden
themselves so well was remarkable, but it was an Indian trick and these
were Apaches, who knew how to hide in the sand itself.
They outnumbered the Spanish three to one. The Spanish leader rapidly
formed his column――he rode a white horse, the horses of his men were
dark. On charged the Apaches, whooping and brandishing their bows and
lances, as if they did not intend to stop until they had ridden right
over the enemy; when on a sudden the guns of the Spanish puffed white
smoke. Instantly every Apache fell to hang on the side of his horse;
and back and forth they all scurried, shooting with their bows. The
arrow stems glinted in the sun like streaks of hail.
“That is a good chief,” Iskatappe praised. “He knows how to fight.”
For the Apache chief had ordered half his men to dismount, and turn
their horses loose. The other half stayed in the saddle. They charged,
with the footmen running behind; the Spanish horsemen charged to meet
them; then the Apache horsemen separated to right and left and the
footmen volleyed with arrows.
This made the Spanish halt, to answer with guns. The Apache footmen
darted back, behind their horsemen, and these charged again, to lure
the Spanish on into bow-shot.
Boy Scar Head quivered with excitement. It was the first real battle
that he remembered to have seen. The others were tense, too, and
staring eagerly.
“With half that number of Pawnees I would eat those Spanish up,” Skidi
boasted. “We all would take scalps and horses and be rich.”
“Those Spanish have guns and much powder and lead,” replied Old Knife.
“It is hard to fight guns with bows. But one big charge, and all would
be over.”
The battle slowly traveled. It was getting directly opposite, as the
Apaches gradually gave ground and the Spanish took ground. Scarcely
anybody appeared to have been hurt yet; there were no dead on the sand
and all the wounded stayed in their saddles. The column in the distance
was making a larger dust, as if hastening to the rescue.
The Apaches no doubt knew this. Now on a sudden the noise quieted.
The Apache chief had cantered forward from among his men, shaking his
lance. He was a very heavy man, with a very long lance; upon his arm
was a red shield. He rode a fine spotted horse.
“The chiefs will fight, maybe,” quoth Letalesha. “That is the way to
settle it.”
The Apache chief spoke in a loud voice, holding his lance high; but the
Spanish chief on the white horse waved him back and evidently said no.
“The Spanish chief is a coward,” Skidi asserted. “He has a small heart.”
“Why should he risk losing his scalp, when he is winning and he has
enough men coming to burn the Apaches like dry grass?” argued the wise
Old Knife.
The Apache chief sat a moment, waiting; then he turned back for his
own party. From the Spanish a great shout arose, that made him again
turn, quickly.
“Ai-ee! It will be a fight, man to man, after all!” Iskatappe exclaimed.
A Spanish soldier had dashed past his chief, and was galloping into the
clear, flourishing his sword. It was a challenge. The chief sped to
meet him. They both crouched behind their round shields. A moment――and
they came together. The Spanish horseman thrust his shield forward,
to throw aside the chief’s lance point. But he did not catch it full.
He only threw it higher, so that it glanced on and struck him in the
throat――went straight through. He fell off, backward. Jerking the lance
out, the Apache chief scoured by, in a half circle, with a whoop of
victory.
“Hi, yi!” Old Knife grunted. “There is blood and a scalp.”
What a yell broke from the Apaches and the Spaniards both――a yell of
triumph from the one, a yell of vengeance from the others! The Spanish
charged, firing their guns, to save the scalp, and to kill. The Apaches
scattered; their chief galloped hither-thither, urging them to stand,
but they had no stomachs for more fighting at close quarters and the
rest of the Spanish were spurring in.
Presently all the Apaches, the footmen on horse again, tore away,
making down the river. Without trying to pursue them the whole Spanish
army gathered on the battlefield. They were too heavily clothed to
overtake Indians.
“They are as many as a herd of buffalo,” said Letalesha. “They are a
large war party. Where are they going and what do they want?”
“We shall find out from them at sundown,” Rich Man answered. “We will
let them camp, first. They are blood hungry now, and very mad.”
“It will be no trouble for us to get horses,” laughed Wolf. “Even a boy
like Scar Head could steal some.”
“Will you let me try?” Scar Head asked, hopefully.
“You shall be a warrior and get horses,” Iskatappe promised, “unless
they make us presents of them.”
“The Apache chief was Big Thunder,” Old Knife declared. “I know him.
Red is his medicine, and as long as he carries that red shield nothing
can kill him.”
“Perhaps the Spanish chief knew, too,” Wolf proposed. “Of course,
nobody wishes to fight against medicine.”
“The Spanish soldier’s medicine was very weak,” remarked Iskatappe.
Thus they chatted, waiting and watching. Pretty soon the Spanish,
also, moved on, down river. There were at least six hundred of them,
all mounted, and twice that number of unsaddled horses and mules, some
packed with supplies. To jingle of trappings and murmur of voices they
proceeded, in a long column. Rich Man, Old Knife, Wolf and Boy Scar
Head followed, by the other river bank, keeping out of sight in the
brush and hollows.
At sunset the Spanish halted to form camp, beside the river.
“We had better go in before dark,” Rich Man directed. “Or they might
shoot at us. We had better go in while their pots are full, for my
belly is empty.”
So they rose boldly from their covert under the bank of the river, and
crossed for the Spanish camp, their buffalo-robes tightly about them.
The camp was spread out in a circle over a wide area. Several chiefs’
lodges had been set up, countless fires were smoking, horses whinnied,
mules brayed, medicine pipes (horns) tooted, and a myriad of figures
moved busily, getting water, going on herd, arranging the packs,
marching to and fro as if in a dance, or clustering around the fires.
These were the Spanish, were they, from the south? Scar Head had not
supposed that so many could come so far, all together. The nation of
the Spanish must be a great and powerful nation.
A guard saw the Iskatappe file approaching. He shouted warning of them,
and leveled his gun.
Iskatappe lifted his hand in the peace sign.
“Amigos――friends,” he called. He knew a little Spanish. So did most of
the Pawnees――a little Spanish picked up from the Comanches and southern
Utahs, and a little French picked up from the St. Louis traders who
visited the Pawnee country.
“Qué tiene――what do you want?” the guard demanded, stopping them
with his gun. He was dressed in a blue cloth hunting-shirt with red
trimmings, and leather wrappings upon his legs, and huge loose-topped
leather moccasins reaching to his knees, and a broad-brimmed
high-crowned hat with ribbons on it; and all his face was covered with
bushy black hair. He was armed with a short-barreled gun, and a long
knife in a scabbard. He certainly looked like a stout warrior.
“El capitan,” Iskatappe replied, meaning that he wished to see the
chief.
Other Spanish soldiers came running. Their head warrior said: “Come,”
and with the Iskatappe file stalking proudly after he led the way
through the staring camp to the lodge of the chief.
He was a black-eyed, dark-skinned, slim young war chief, splendidly
clad in those same high, loose-topped shiny leather moccasins, and a
bright red cloak flowing to his knees, and a hat turned up at one side
and sparkling with gilt.
Of course the first thing to do was to eat. Therefore, after shaking
hands with the Spanish war chief, Rich Man, Old Knife and Wolf sat
down; boy Scar Head sat down likewise. They were served with plenty of
meat, from a pot.
Gazing curiously about, Scar Head might see indeed that these Spanish
were rich and powerful. Such quantities of horses and mules, of
saddles, arms, supplies, and soldiers warmly dressed, and fiercely
whiskered not only with hair on cheeks and chin, but sticking out like
horns on either side of the nose! What did the Spanish wish?
Having eaten, Iskatappe began to find out. The Spanish chief filled a
pipe and passed it out; Rich Man, Old Knife and Wolf smoked each a few
puffs, the Spanish chief smoked a few puffs, and Iskatappe spoke.
“The Pawnee wish to know why their Spanish father is sending so many of
his soldiers into the buffalo country.”
“The great king who owns all this country is anxious to be friendly
with his children,” responded the young war chief. “So he has sent me,
his lieutenant, Don Facundo Melgares, with a guard, to march through,
take his red children by the hand, give them presents, and make the
chain of friendship stronger.”
“That is good,” said Iskatappe. “The Pawnee Republic is very poor.
But if my father is sending presents to the Pawnee, why are his men
marching east instead of north? And why does he send so many soldiers
with guns?”
“We follow a long trail,” explained the war chief. “There are Indians
of bad hearts toward everybody, like the Apaches; and the Apaches we
will punish. The great king knows how to punish his enemies, as well as
how to reward his friends. We are marching east because we go first to
visit the Comanches. We bear gifts and friendship to the Comanches, to
the Pawnees, and to the Kansas. And we march east to clean the country
from the Americans who are stealing in. The great king will look after
his own children. He wishes no foreigners to view the land. He will not
permit the American traders to cheat the Indians. The American king
pretends to have bought part of the country, but he has no rights here
in the south, and the great king of Spain still owns all the lands
beyond the Pawnees and the Kansas. Now word has come to the Spanish
governor that the Americans are sending soldiers westward through
Spanish country, to spy out the land. They are led by a chief named
Pike. So we march ready for battle, to meet these Americans and either
turn them back or take them prisoner.”
“The Americans of Chief Pike will fight?” asked Iskatappe.
The young war chief laughed, showing white teeth.
“They cannot fight the soldiers of the great king. We are many and
brave; the Americans are small. We can punish or reward. The Americans
are weak and poor. Should there be war, we will eat them up. If they do
not keep out of the country, there will be war. We shall warn them. The
Indians would do very foolishly to help the Americans who have nothing,
and are only greedy, seeking to steal the Indians’ hunting grounds.
First a few will come, as spies; then more will come by the same trail,
and with their guns kill all the buffalo.”
“We know little about the Americans, but we see that the Spanish are
many and strong,” Iskatappe replied. “I will take word back to the
Pawnee, about this Pike.”
“Who is your head chief?”
“He is Charakterik――White Wolf.”
“Where does he live?”
“In his town of the Pawnee nation on the river of the Pawnee Republic.”
“Tell him that after we have marched east and talked with the Comanches
and cleaned the foreign traders from the country, we will march north
and visit him at his town on the River Republican. If the American
chief Mungo-Meri Pike comes there, the Pawnees must stop him; for the
great king will be angry if the Americans are allowed to pass through.”
“I will tell him,” Iskatappe promised. “It is best that we travel fast.
We came down on foot, for we are very poor. If we have horses to ride
back on, we shall travel faster.”
“Bueno――good,” answered the Spanish chief. “Your father the great king
of us all is generous to his children. You shall have horses, so that
you may carry the news quickly.”
This night the Iskatappe squad slept in the Spanish camp, and ate
frequently. Rich Man explained to Old Knife and Wolf what had been said
to him and not understood by them. Boy Scar Head listened. In the
morning they were treated to a marching dance, in which the Spanish
soldiers moved to the beat of drums. They were presented with a horse
apiece; and after having shaken hands again they left, well satisfied.
Once away from the river they rode fast; for Skidi had stolen three
mules during the night while the guard was sleepy instead of watchful,
and hidden the animals in a convenient place. But the Spanish did not
pursue.
“We will tell Charakterik that the Spanish are strong,” said Iskatappe.
“They fought the Apaches; they have plenty of guns and horses. They
will eat the Americans of that Pike.”
“I think, myself, that the Pawnee will grow fatter by helping the
Spanish father than by helping the strange American father,” declared
Old Knife.
“We have gained four horses and three mules,” Skidi chuckled. “All the
whites are stupid. If the Americans come they will go back afoot; hey?”
“What kind of men are the Americans?” Boy Scar Head ventured to ask,
from the rear.
“We are talking,” Letalesha rebuked. “When chiefs and warriors talk,
boys keep silent.”
So Scar Head got no information. All he knew was, that the Americans
were a white nation living in the far east, beyond St. Louis where the
French traders lived. But three Pawnees had been taken by the great
trader Pierre Chouteau, to visit the American father in Wash’ton. When
they returned, the Pawnees would know more about the Americans. And of
course that Chief Pike was likely to appear if the Spanish did not stop
him.
II
THE COMING OF THE AMERICANS
The Spanish came in about three weeks――three hundred of them, led by
their young war chief whose name was Melgares. A brave sight they made
as they rode with flags and drums and jingle of bridles and formed camp
outside the Chief Charakterik town.
Lieutenant Melgares held a council with the Republican Pawnees and the
Grand Pawnees from the north. The Pawnee Loups, or Wolf Pawnees, did
not send any chiefs, because they were at war with the other Pawnees.
The Spanish chief said that he had met the Ietans or Comanches in the
south and signed a treaty of peace with them. They had promised to
help their Spanish father. But on the way north the Omahas had stolen
many of his horses and mules, after another council; and by reason of
these bad hearts he had come on with only a few of his men, in order to
smooth the road between the great king and the great king’s children.
He was too young to sit in grand council with the head chiefs of the
Pawnees. In the spring a higher chief than he would come, to build
a town near the Pawnee town, and live with the red people and teach
them how to get rich, if they were good. Meanwhile they must watch out
that the Americans (who were poor but greedy) did not sneak in, and
cheat them of their lands and drive off the game. The American chief,
Mungo-Meri Pike, was on the way, although he had not been found. If he
arrived, he must be turned back. These were the orders of the king of
the Spanish nation, who ruled all this country.
Lieutenant Melgares gave Chief Charakterik and the head chief of the
Grand Pawnees each a large, fine medal of silver to wear; and a paper
signed by the governor of New Mexico, which made them head men under
the king; and a Spanish flag, and four mules. He laid on the prairie
other gifts, of crimson cloth and of tobacco and smaller medals; and
again warning them that the great king would be very angry if the
crafty Americans were permitted to pass, he rode away south, with all
his men.
Chief Charakterik hung the gay Spanish flag of red and yellow in front
of the council lodge, as a sign for everybody to see. It was plain to
him also that the Spanish nation was a powerful nation, to send so many
soldiers so far, looking for the Americans.
The Spanish soldiers had not been gone long when from the Osage towns
in the southeast toward the Missouri River there ran the news that the
Americans of Mungo-Meri Pike were coming indeed. They were bringing to
the Osages almost fifty men and women whom the Potawatomis had captured
last year, and who had been rescued by the American father. Two of the
Pawnees who had been to Wash’ton visiting the American father were with
them on the way home.
“We will let them come this far, so as to get our brothers back,” said
Chief Charakterik. “We will talk with them and see what kind of men
they are, but they shall go no farther.”
He sent Pawnee scouts down to the Osage towns, to watch the Americans.
Now August, the squash month, had passed, and September, the month when
the buffalo fatten, had opened. The Americans were reported to be at
the Osage villages, where a welcome had greeted the Osages returned
from the Potawatomis, and a great council had been held with the Pike
men.
They had traveled in boats up the Osage River from the Missouri, but
were coming on across country to the Pawnees by horses.
Only one American appeared, first, riding in with a
Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton as his guide. This Pawnee young man
had gone to visit the American father many moons ago, and here he was
again, safe and sound and wearing good clothes. That spoke well for the
Americans.
He said that the other Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton was coming
with the rest of the Americans. They were bringing several Osages to
smoke with the Pawnees. They had sent word for the Kansas to meet
them and smoke peace. The Americans were a pleasant people; they
numbered thousands. This American with him was a medicine-man who
cured diseases. The American chief, Pike, had given the Osages all the
rescued captives and had asked nothing except peace and a chance to
buy horses; he had presents for the Pawnees, too, and was going to the
Comanches. His men were few although well armed.
The next day, after having talked with the American medicine-man in the
lodge, Chief Charakterik took sixty warriors and rode out to meet Chief
Mungo-Meri Pike.
Charakterik was gone three days, and came in without having sighted the
Americans. But a Pawnee hunter reported that the Americans were farther
to the southward; so Chief Charakterik sent out Frank (which was the
American name of the Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton) and three other
warriors, to find them.
On the second morning two of the scouts galloped back into town.
“The Pike Americans are nearing. They will be here before noon.”
“Tell them to wait until I shall meet them and smoke with them,” Chief
Charakterik ordered.
All the warriors were arrayed, dressed in their best robes and
blankets, and painted with the Pawnee colors of white, yellow, blue and
black. Chief Charakterik wore his large Spanish medal and finest white
buffalo-robe. Second Chief Iskatappe wore a red coat given him by his
Spanish father.
Three hundred warriors left the village, with the chiefs. Riding in
their midst, as the son of a great chief Scar Head felt that the
Pawnees need fear nobody.
The Americans had halted about three miles out, just at the other side
of a ridge. The Osages were sitting in front of them. Chief Charakterik
shouted and waved his hand――the Pawnee warriors divided right and
left and swooped down at dead run, yelling and firing their guns. The
Americans stood firm, not afraid, as if they knew that this was only
play. They were few, as said; scarcely more than the fingers on two
hands.
After the warriors had charged and had formed a circle, Chief
Charakterik and Second Chief Iskatappe advanced on foot to shake hands
with the American chief. This Mungo-Meri Pike was a young man, in a
long hunting-shirt or coat of blue with brass buttons and high standing
collar and lighter blue facings; on his head there was a three-cornered
hat; a curved sword was at his side and leather moccasins reached to
his knees. He was redder than the Spanish chief Melgares, and had no
hair on his face.
His men were armed with guns that ended in sharp-pointed knives, but
their clothing was thin and poor――nothing like the rich clothing of the
Spanish soldiers. They had a flag of red and white stripes and a starry
blue square in one corner, but they were small in number; and all in
all they did not cut much of a figure when compared with the Spanish.
Certainly they were either brave or foolish, thought Boy Scar Head as
he roundly stared, to dare the Spanish and the Indians in such fashion.
The Osages knew how to act when in Pawnee country. Their chief stood
up and offered Chief White Wolf a pipe. They smoked, as sign of peace.
Then at a signal by White Wolf, he and Mungo-Meri Pike and the American
second chief (also a young man) rode on for the village. An American
head warrior on a white horse rode just behind, carrying the American
flag. The Osages and the other Americans followed, while the Pawnee
warriors raced back and forth alongside, whooping and showing off. It
was great fun.
When they all had crossed the ridge and were near the town, another
halt was ordered, in order to smoke horses with the Osages. The four
Osages sat down together; Chief Charakterik sat down in front of them,
and lighted his pipe. Any Pawnee who wished to give horses to an Osage
took the pipe and passed it to the Osage. Every time it was passed it
meant a horse, until eight horses had been given. This was the Horse
Smoke.
The American second chief marched the soldiers on, to make camp
up-river from the town. Chief Mungo-Meri Pike and his medicine-man
stayed for a talk with White Wolf in his lodge. They were feasted to
stewed corn and squash.
The Osages also were feasted in the village. They had come on with the
Americans to meet the Kansas at the Pawnee village and sit in peace
council. Pretty Bird was their head chief.
Everybody was curious to learn from the Osages and from the two
Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton what kind of people these Americans
were.
“They live in a country wider than a week’s travel by horse,” Frank
asserted. “You are never out of sight of their lodges.”
“Their women have red cheeks, and their men are in number of the
buffalo,” the other Pawnee asserted. “They have great guns that shoot a
mile and speak twice.”
“If they are so powerful and many, why do they send such a little
company into this country, when the Spanish father sent half a thousand
soldiers at once?” inquired Skidi. “These are spies.”
“They brought us forty-six of our relatives, from the Potawatomi,” said
an Osage. “They asked for horses to go on with, but we sold them few.
Now by orders of the great father at Wash’ton we are to make peace with
the Kansas. The great father wishes his red children to fight no more.”
“It is all because there is talk of war between the Spanish and the
Americans,” Frank wisely declared. “That we heard. The Americans wish
to keep the Indians from the war trail, so that they can march in here
and take the land.”
“We do not want the Americans in here,” spoke Skidi. “Our Spanish
father warned us against them. They are poor and stingy or they would
have sent a large company and an old chief to treat with us. They will
get no help from the Pawnee, and they must go back.”
The American chief and his medicine-man stayed a long time in the
Charakterik lodge. After a while Scar Head’s older brother came looking
for him.
“White Wolf says that you are to go on with the two Americans up to
their camp and take a pony load of corn.”
“How soon?”
“Now. They are leaving. The pony is being packed.”
So Scar Head hastened to the lodge. The two Americans were bidding
Chief Charakterik goodby, and were about to mount their horses.
The chief beckoned to Scar Head and pointed to the pony. Scar Head
obediently scrambled atop the corn.
“Do I come back to-night?” he asked.
“You may stay till morning, and see what you can see. Do not talk; and
be sure and bring back the pony.”
This was quite an adventure――to ride to the American camp with the
head chief and the medicine-man, and maybe spend the night there. Scar
Head’s heart beat rapidly, but he did not show that he was either
frightened or delighted, for he was Indian, and son of White Wolf.
He guided his loaded pony in the rear of the two trotting horsemen.
Outside the town Chief Mungo-Meri Pike reined in and dropped back
beside him, with a smile.
They eyed each other, although Scar Head did not smile. He was not
ready to smile, and White Wolf had told him not to talk.
The American chief had a clear pink and brown skin and a bright blue
eye, with rather large nose and mouth, and stubborn chin. His manner
was quick and commanding; anybody might see that he was a chief.
“What is your name?” he asked, suddenly, in French.
“Scar Head,” answered Scar Head, in Pawnee.
Evidently the American chief did not understand Pawnee, for he looked a
little puzzled.
“Do you speak French?” he demanded.
“Yes, little,” answered Scar Head.
“You are not an Indian?”
“Yes, Pawnee,” grunted Scar Head.
“You don’t look like a Pawnee.”
“Pawnee,” Scar Head insisted, as he had been ordered always to do, by
Charakterik.
“Who is your father?”
“White Wolf.”
“Who was your mother?”
“Don’t know.”
“Were you born here?”
“Don’t know.”
“Do you speak English?”
“No.”
“How old are you?”
Scar Head held up the fingers of his two hands; that was as nearly as
he could guess. It didn’t matter, anyway.
The American chief hailed the medicine-man in the American language.
Scar Head did not understand, but the words were: “Doctor, I don’t
believe this is an Indian boy at all.”
Now the medicine-man (he was a young man, with brown hair on his face)
reined back to ride upon Scar Head’s other side. He spoke, in French.
“Are you an Indian?”
“Yes.”
“What nation?”
“Pawnee.”
“Where did the Pawnee get you?”
“From Utahs.”
“Chief Charakterik is not your father, then?”
“Yes. My father.”
“Your mother a Utah?”
“Don’t know.”
“How long has Charakterik been your father?” The medicine-man was smart.
“Two year.”
“I see. The Utahs probably traded him to the Pawnees, doctor,” spoke
the chief Mungo-Meri Pike, across, in the language that Scar Head did
not understand. “And Charakterik adopted him.”
“The Utahs must have got him somewhere. He’s no Indian,” replied the
medicine-man, in those strange words. “He’s not Spanish, either.” And
he asked, in French, of Scar Head:
“You speak Spanish?”
“A little.”
“You speak Utah?”
Scar Head nodded. He was growing tired of these questionings.
The medicine-man kept eyeing him.
“Where did you get this?” And he tapped his own head, in sign of the
patch of white hair.
“My name,” answered Scar Head.
“What made it?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did the Utahs capture you?”
“Don’t know.”
“Where were you before the Utahs had you?”
“Don’t know.”
“He may not be all Indian, but he’s enough Indian so he won’t tell what
he doesn’t want to tell,” laughed the American chief, in the strange
words.
The medicine-man shrugged his shoulders.
“I’d like to take him along with us and find out more about him. By the
shape of his head he’s white blood.”
The three jogged on in silence. Scar Head wondered what they had said,
with those words, but he was glad to be let alone. White Wolf had
forbidden him to talk with strangers. Nevertheless he glanced now and
then at the two Americans. He felt more friendly toward them. They
seemed kind.
The American camp was not far. It had guards stationed, who saluted
the American chief when he passed. At his lodge fire he halted; a head
warrior took Scar Head’s pony, with the corn; other warriors took the
two horses, to lead them away. The American second chief was here.
While he and Chief Mungo-Meri Pike talked, Scar Head sat by the fire
and looked around, to see what was going on.
The camp had been placed upon a hill for protection. There were only
four or five lodges, of canvas, besides the chief’s lodge. The American
flag was flying from a pole. This American camp appeared poor――nothing.
The soldiers, fifteen, wore shabby uniforms of sky blue; their coats
were short and tight, their leggins thin, and several were mending
their moccasins of heavy leather. They had only fifteen extra horses,
to carry their baggage and the presents. There was a black dog. They
talked and laughed much, as they busied themselves or waited around the
two fires that they had built. The hair on their heads was of different
colors――brown, and black, and red, and gray. So was the hair on their
faces. They were quick, active warriors――good men, evidently. If the
Pawnees fought them, it would be hot work before they all were wiped
out.
Maybe, thought Scar Head, they depended upon the medicine of their
“doctor,” to help them.
Another man, who could talk sign language and a little Pawnee, came and
sat down beside him. He was the interpreter for Chief Pike.
“You’re no Indian; you’re white,” he accused, of Scar Head.
“Indian,” said Scar Head.
“Where did you come from?”
“Utahs.”
“Where did they get you?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did White Wolf buy you from the Utahs?”
“He is my father.”
“You speak with crooked tongue,” the interpreter accused. “You are
white. You are American. Who was your father?”
“White Wolf is my father. I am Pawnee. I will talk no more,” said Scar
Head. “Let me alone.”