George Northrup was but a boy of fifteen when his father died. Having
nothing to keep him at home, he went to the Indian country, which at
that time was in Minnesota. He had a boyish notion that he could go
through to the Pacific Ocean by making his way from one tribe to
another. When he was eighteen years old, a few years before the Civil
War, he tried to make this journey. He loaded his provisions into a
handcart, and took a big dog along for company. For thirty-six days he
did not see anybody, or hear any voice but his own. Then he found paths
made by Indian war parties. He knew, that, if one of these parties
should find him, he would be killed.
One morning he found all his food stolen from his handcart. Either
Indians or wolves had taken it. He now saw how foolish his boyish plan
had been. He turned back, and at last reached a trading post, almost
starved to death. For days he had had little to eat except such frogs
as he could catch.
After this the Indians always called him
"The-man-that-draws-the-handcart."
As he grew older, he became a famous trapper and guide. He knew all
about the habits of animals. He could shoot with a better aim than any
Indian or any other white man on the frontier. He often walked eighty
miles in a day across the prairie. He could manage the Indians as no
other man could.
This strange young man lived among rough and wicked men. But he never
drank or swore, or did anything that anybody could have thought wrong.
He never even smoked, as other men about him did, but he lived his own
life in his own way. Everybody loved him for his gentleness. Everybody
admired him for his courage and manliness. All the spare money he got
he spent for good books.
When winter time came, he would sometimes hire other trappers, who did
not know the country so well as he did, to work for him. He would go
away beyond the settlements and set up a camp. He would teach the other
men how to trap. When spring came, he would bring many furs into the
settlement. One winter he camped in the country of the Yankton Indians.
He had six men with him. The Yanktons were wild Indians, and Northrup
was in some danger. But he had a friend among the Indians, a chief
called by a good long name, Taw-ton-wash-tah.
But all the Yanktons were not friendly to the white men. There was one
chief whose name was Old-man. He got together a party to go and rob
Northrup and drive him away. Taw-ton-wash-tah tried to keep these
Indians from going, but he could not do it.
Northrup did not know that a party had been sent out against him. His
men went on with their trapping, while George went hunting to get food
for them. They had only a small bag of flour, and this they did not
eat. They kept the flour for a time that might come in which they could
not find any animals to kill for meat.
One day George followed the tracks of an elk. He overtook it six miles
from his camp. He crept up to it and shot it. Then he loaded his gun,
so as to be ready for anything that might happen. While he was skinning
the elk, he looked up and saw the heads of Indians coming up over a
little hill. He quickly jumped into the bushes. He saw that there were
thirteen Indians in the party. He put his hand on his bullet pouch, and
knew by the feeling of it that there were fifteen bullets in the bag.
"Every bullet must bring down an Indian," he said to himself.
One of the Indians called out in his own language, "Is
The-man-that-draws-the-handcart here?"
George quickly replied in their language, "Stop! If any man comes one
step nearer, I will kill him. Tell me whether this is a war party or a
hunting party."
One of the Indians stepped out in front and fired off both barrels of
his gun. This was a sign of friendship.
Northrup did not think this offer of peace worth much; but, if he
refused it, he would have to fight against thirteen Indians. He could
only accept it by firing off both barrels of his gun. This would leave
him with his gun unloaded.
But he slipped the cap off one barrel of his gun. Then he fired the
other barrel, and brought down the hammer of the one from which he had
taken the cap, so as to make it seem that that barrel of his gun was
empty. Then he slyly slipped the cap back on his gun, so as to have one
barrel ready for use.
He went with the Indians to their camp, where he was a kind of
prisoner, but he managed to load the empty barrel of his gun by going
behind a tree where the Indians could not see him.
He knew that the Indians would try to get to his camp before he did. As
his men did not know how to manage Indians, the Indians could steal
everything in the camp. If they should take his provisions, George and
his men might starve on the prairies, which were covered with snow.
So George made up his mind that he must get to his camp before the
Indians, or lose his life in trying.