A Plentiful Hunting Camp.-Shoshonie Hunters--Hoback’s River
--Mad River--Encampment Near the Pilot Knobs.--A
Consultation.--Preparations for a Perilous Voyage.
FIVE days were passed by Mr. Hunt and his companions in the fresh
meadows watered by the bright little mountain stream. The hunters made
great havoc among the buffaloes, and brought in quantities of meat; the
voyageurs busied themselves about the fires, roasting and stewing for
present purposes, or drying provisions for the journey; the pack-horses,
eased of their burdens, rolled on the grass, or grazed at large about
the ample pasture; those of the party who had no call upon their
services, indulged in the luxury of perfect relaxation, and the camp
presented a picture of rude feasting and revelry, of mingled bustle
and repose, characteristic of a halt in a fine hunting country. In the
course of one of their excursions, some of the men came in sight of
a small party of Indians, who instantly fled in great apparent
consternation. They immediately retreated to camp with the intelligence:
upon which Mr. Hunt and four others flung themselves upon their horses,
and sallied forth to reconnoitre. After riding for about eight miles,
they came upon a wild mountain scene. A lonely green valley stretched
before them, surrounded by rugged heights. A herd of buffalo were
careering madly through it, with a troop of savage horsemen in full
chase, plying them with their bows and arrows. The appearance of Mr.
Hunt and his companions put an abrupt end to the hunt; the buffalo
scuttled off in one direction, while the Indians plied their lashes and
galloped off in another, as fast as their steeds could carry them. Mr.
Hunt gave chase; there was a sharp scamper, though of short continuance.
Two young Indians, who were indifferently mounted, were soon overtaken.
They were terribly frightened, and evidently gave themselves up for
lost. By degrees their fears were allayed by kind treatment; but they
continued to regard the strangers with a mixture of awe and wonder, for
it was the first time in their lives they had ever seen a white man.
They belonged to a party of Snakes who had come across the mountains on
their autumnal hunting excursion to provide buffalo meat for the
winter. Being persuaded of the peaceful intentions of Mr. Hunt and his
companions, they willingly conducted them to their camp. It was pitched
in a narrow valley on the margin of a stream. The tents were of dressed
skins, some of them fantastically painted; with horses grazing about
them. The approach of the party caused a transient alarm in the camp,
for these poor Indians were ever on the look-out for cruel foes. No
sooner, however, did they recognize the garb and complexion of their
visitors, than their apprehensions were changed into Joy; for some of
them had dealt with white men, and knew them to be friendly, and to
abound with articles of singular value. They welcomed them, therefore,
to their tents, set food before them; and entertained them to the best
of their power.
They had been successful in their hunt, and their camp was full of
jerked buffalo meat, all of the choicest kind, and extremely fat. Mr.
Hunt purchased enough of them, in addition to what had been killed
and cured by his own hunters, to load all the horses excepting those
reserved for the partners and the wife of Pierre Dorion. He found, also,
a few beaver skins in their camp, for which he paid liberally, as an
inducement to them to hunt for more; informing them that some of his
party intended to live among the mountains, and trade with the native
hunters for their peltries. The poor Snakes soon comprehended the
advantages thus held out to them, and promised to exert themselves to
procure a quantity of beaver skins for future traffic. Being now well
supplied with provisions, Mr. Hunt broke up his encampment on the 24th
of September, and continued on to the west. A march of fifteen miles,
over a mountain ridge, brought them to a stream about fifty feet in
width, which Hoback, one of their guides, who had trapped about the
neighborhood when in the service of Mr. Henry, recognized for one of the
head waters of the Columbia. The travellers hailed it with delight,
as the first stream they had encountered tending toward their point of
destination. They kept along it for two days, during which, from the
contribution of many rills and brooks, it gradually swelled into a small
river. As it meandered among rocks and precipices, they were frequently
obliged to ford it, and such was its rapidity that the men were often in
danger of being swept away. Sometimes the banks advanced so close upon
the river that they were obliged to scramble up and down their rugged
promontories, or to skirt along their bases where there was scarce a
foothold. Their horses had dangerous falls in some of these passes. One
of them rolled, with his load, nearly two hundred feet down hill into
the river, but without receiving any injury. At length they emerged from
these stupendous defiles, and continued for several miles along the bank
of Hoback’s River, through one of the stern mountain valleys. Here it
was joined by a river of greater magnitude and swifter current, and
their united waters swept off through the valley in one impetuous
stream, which, from its rapidity and turbulence, had received the name
of the Mad River. At the confluence of these streams the travellers
encamped. An important point in their arduous journey had been attained;
a few miles from their camp rose the three vast snowy peaks called the
Tetons, or the Pilot Knobs, the great landmarks of the Columbia, by
which they had shaped their course through this mountain wilderness. By
their feet flowed the rapid current of Mad River, a stream ample enough
to admit of the navigation of canoes, and down which they might possibly
be able to steer their course to the main body of the Columbia.
The Canadian voyageurs rejoiced at the idea of once more launching
themselves upon their favorite element; of exchanging their horses for
canoes, and of gliding down the bosoms of rivers, instead of scrambling
over the backs of mountains. Others of the party, also, inexperienced in
this kind of travelling, considered their toils and troubles as drawing
to a close. They had conquered the chief difficulties of this great
rocky barrier, and now flattered themselves with the hope of an easy
downward course for the rest of their journey. Little did they dream
of the hardships and perils by land and water, which were yet to be
encountered in the frightful wilderness that intervened between them and
the shores of the Pacific!