[Illustration: THE TRAPPER’S HOME.]
Bill Biddon, Trapper
OR
LIFE IN THE NORTHWEST
BY
EDWARD S. ELLIS
AUTHOR OF “NATHAN TODD,” “LIFE OF PONTIAC, THE
CONSPIRATOR,” “LAND OF MYSTERY,” ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1916,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Out Late at Night 9
II. A New Friend 32
III. The Trapper’s Story 48
IV. The Trapping Grounds 72
V. Conversations and Plans 98
VI. Still in the Dark--The Canoe Again 116
VII. Alone in the Wilderness 134
VIII. Trapping Among the Indians 153
IX. The Buffalo Hunt and its Consequences 174
X. An Awful Awakening 191
XI. The Brigade and an Old Friend 210
XII. Found at Last 237
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
The Trapper’s Home FRONTISPIECE
PAGE
“What’s your handle, stranger?” 41
“Gave a snort of alarm and plunged headlong away into the
droves.” 61
“Looking back saw a host of savage forms.” 79
“In the stern, with a guiding oar, sat a young female.” 93
“I could see his two coal-black eyes glittering plainly.” 145
“Setting up a wild yell, the Indians scattered and plunged
after them.” 177
“Without losing a moment, we mounted and struck to the
northward.” 203
“A fight! a fight! make a ring for them.” 213
“No less personage than Nat stepped ashore.” 239
“Hilloa, you!” 251
BILL BIDDON, TRAPPER;
OR,
LIFE IN THE NORTHWEST.
CHAPTER I.
OUT LATE AT NIGHT.
“How is it, Nat? Any light yet?”
“Not the least sign of one, and it’s my opinion it will be a long time
before we see another.”
“What! you haven’t given up all hopes of reaching the camp? I hope
not, as I don’t relish the idea of camping out to-night.”
“Nor I either; but I’m thinking it will come to that sooner or later.”
“Well, there are several hours yet, in which we must plod onward,” I
added, trudging wearily behind my companion.
Before going further, I may as well introduce my friend and myself. My
companion answered to the name of Nathan Todd, and was a native of
Maine. He was a tall, lank individual, with long, attentuated limbs
and an awkward appearance generally. He was very meager and muscular,
and when roused to a heat of passion, as quick and powerful as the
panther. His gait was an ungainly, straddling one, and he was
seemingly capable of anything but speed; but on one or two occasions
since leaving the States, he had shown a fleetness of foot which was
truly wonderful. He was a good, open-hearted fellow, and one who, when
driven to the wall, would be a dangerous enemy. Once or twice,
however, he had shown the white feather, and his natural timidity
would often evince itself. As a consequence, Nat was not, perhaps, the
safest companion in the hour of danger; but, for all that, there was
no one in our party whose presence I would have preferred upon the
night in which I introduce him to notice. There was no imminent peril
threatening us, and Nat was a capital companion, who could while-away
the hours, if he chose, with his inexhaustible store of anecdote and
humor. I knew he entertained a warm affection for me, and would brave
almost any danger rather than be suspected of his only deficiency. A
single intimation would decide his course in a moment.
Nat wore a singular dress--half savage and half civilized. The pants
and shoes were such as are fashionable in the enlightened world; but a
capacious hunting-shirt encased his body, secured around the waist by
a heavy band, and much the same as are worn by the hunters and natives
of the Far West at the present day. The most striking part of his
dress, however, was the hat. This he had brought with him from Maine,
and it really seemed indestructible. It was a gray color, and having
lost its band a long time before, had acquired the shape of a cone.
When it rested on his head, the edge reached the shoulders behind, and
the eyebrows in front, and the pointed peak was far off above the
crown.
Nathan Todd’s face was full of shrewdness and good humor. He had a
large, curved nose, broad mouth, and a fine blue eye. The chin was
retreating; but this drawback was modified partly by a long tuft of
yellow hair, the only signs of beard upon his face, except a shadowy
mustache. The hair was long and sandy, and harmonized well with the
rest of his countenance. There was ever a contraction of the
eyebrows--a sort of unspoken question--so often seen in persons from
“down east,” which indicated a prying, curious disposition.
As for myself, my name is William Relmond, and I hail from one of the
middle States. Shortly after the announcement of the discovery of gold
in California, I was seized with the lunacy that was carrying its
thousands to the Pacific coast. I was well situated in life at home,
but that was not considered. I must go and fish up a fabulous fortune
also. I had one brother and several sisters, but our parents had been
dead for some years, and we were residing with an uncle, the guardian
of each, until maturity. A favorable opportunity offering I had made
some preparation for the legal profession; but I was never inclined to
Coke, and had no intention of pursuing the practice of the law in
after life. At the age of twenty, then, without a settled purpose in
life, I determined to make a journey to the El Dorado of the New
World. I was not influenced solely by the love of gain, in taking this
step, but the love of adventure urged me irresistibly on. I had heard
wonderful stories of the boundless prairies, of the wandering hordes
of Indians, their millions of buffaloes and horses, and the vast,
billowy ocean of verdure and sunshine, and the Far West seemed the
paradise of the world to me.
I was provided with an ample outfit at home, and departed amid the
tears of my good uncle and affectionate sisters. I proceeded by the
usual route to Independence, Missouri, where I made inquiries of the
trains which were constantly leaving the point for Oregon and
California. In my wanderings, I stumbled upon Nat Todd, my present
companion. He had just arrived from his distant home, where he had
left a widowed mother and a disconsolate sweetheart. But he said he
was going to return, in just two years from the day he left, with a
“rousing heap” of money, and intended to buy “Squire Hunt’s farm,”
take Alminy down there, and live the rest of his life. His frankness
and humor impressed me favorably; and, after a short conversation, we
grasped hands, and swore to remain by each other till our adventures
were terminated by death or a happy _dénouement_.
We engaged places in a train which left the next day. This company
numbered nigh two hundred persons, and was composed of all kinds of
characters, except females. There were French _voyageurs_, Irishmen,
and an agent of one of the western fur companies, and the majority of
the rest were those just from the plow or the workshop. They had
secured the services of an experienced guide, and were well equipped
for the perilous journey before them.
The overland route, at this time, was so alive with passing emigrants,
that few depredations were committed by the Indians. The savages
sometimes hung around companies, but as there were almost always other
whites in sight, they rarely ventured upon any greater crime than
pilfering. Nothing worthy of note occurred upon the journey for a
length of time. We experienced the usual mishaps and trials of
emigrants, but nothing more startling. We sometimes lost a part of our
baggage and provisions in crossing the rivers, and were greatly
discomforted by the terrific storms which often rage in these regions.
Then, again, we traveled mile after mile, and hour after hour upon the
dry, monotonous, glistening rolling prairie, so wearied and tired of
the scene that we hardly exchanged a syllable for hours at a stretch.
At last, the plains of Kansas were reached. On the day in which I
introduce my friend and myself to notice, we had descried a solitary
antelope at a great distance upon the prairie, and set out to bring it
down. We left our horses behind, hoping to reach the animal by
stratagem. I approached it near enough to wound it, when it made off
with the speed of the wind. Expecting to see it give out each moment,
we followed it mile after mile, until gathering darkness warned us
that night was at hand, when we halted in alarm, and were compelled to
allow the antelope to escape, while we endeavored to retrace our
steps. The caravan was nowhere in sight, and we doubted not that it
had disappeared hours before. We left the train about noon, and had
been warned that they would not halt or wait for us, and should we
lose them, they would take no pains to hunt us up. But we heeded not
this, as we expected to keep them constantly in view, and have the
antelope cooked for our supper.
But I have shown how widely we were mistaken. We were compelled to see
the night shut down around us, without bringing us any hope of
spending it with our friends; and at a late hour we were still
plodding aimlessly over the prairie.
“No light yet, Nat?” I asked, for the twentieth time.
“Well, I should think you had asked that question about often enough,
to be suited with my answer.”
“I expect to ask it a dozen times more.”
“Then I’ll just answer at once for all, so I won’t be troubled agin
with talkin’. _No!_ there’s the answer.”
“I don’t know but what you are right, Nat. We must have come a long
distance, utterly unconscious of it, in our eagerness to get that
plaguey antelope, and it is useless to hope to reach camp again before
morning.”
“That’s my opinion, exactly. That camp, I opine, is a good dozen miles
off yet.”
“Then we may have a chance of reaching it still before morning, as
this bright moon favors us.”
The moon, full and clear, had arisen an hour before, and its light
illumined the prairie for a great distance around. Far away, on every
hand, we could discern the blue outline of the horizon, while the
prairie seemed to roll up against it like the dark boundaries of a
mighty ocean. Everything was as silent and motionless as though we
were treading a region of death.
Mile after mile, we trudged on, beguiling the time by conversation.
The ground was dry and hard, and the vegetation scarce and stunted.
The day had been quite warm, and there was a delicious coolness about
the evening air that made it pleasant to walk an hour or so; but as
more than double that time had expired since we commenced, it had long
been exceedingly wearisome to us.
“I wonder whether those fellows will go a foot out of the way to pick
us up,” muttered Nat, half to himself.
“I don’t believe they will. They told us they wouldn’t and they value
their time too highly to waste it for a couple who are of no account
to them, especially since we can fall in with other trains.”
“I reckon they’re of some account to us, being they have got both our
horses and considerable of our traveling apparatus.”
“That is too true, Nat. In fact, since we have been walking here, I
have persuaded myself that those fellows would, just as likely as not,
turn something out of the way to get rid of us.”
“Somehow or other, I’ve felt just the same for a week.”
“Then, if we value our property, we mustn’t let them slip.”
“No; I’ll be shot, if we must!” exclaimed Nat, half angrily, striking
at once into a more rapid walk. “If they run off with my mare,
I’ll--I’ll--” and again he strode faster over the prairie.
Long--long, we journeyed in silence. Nat’s apprehensions had been
aroused, and he was willing to walk the whole night to come up with
those in whose honesty he had so little faith. Now and then he would
mutter incoherently to himself and shoot ahead, keeping me almost on a
run to maintain my place beside him. Suddenly he halted, and turned
upon me with an expression I shall never forget. I could see his eyes
expanded to twice their usual size, and his whole face aglow beneath
his monstrous hat, as he asked in a cold whisper:
“Wonder if there’s Injins about to-night.”
I laughed outright.
“Why, Nat, you ain’t afraid, are you?”
“Who said I was afraid? I just asked a question.”
“What possessed you to ask such a question?”
“Don’t know; just come into my mind. Do you s’pose there are any
Injins roving round the country to-night?”
“I am sure I cannot tell, but I think it extremely probable. Are you
fearful that there are some upon our trail?”
“There might be! No; I was thinking if we should come across any of
them, they might be able to tell us whether any of them chaps think
we’re lost, and have run off with my mare.”
“Should we meet a lot of those savages, no doubt they would tell us
something else besides that.”
“I expect so,” and he wheeled around and strode ahead again. It was
now getting near midnight, and I was completely worn out. It was out
of the question to reach the camp that night, and we might as well
submit to our fate at once, so I spoke rather decidedly.
“I’m tired of this.”
Nat turned and looked at me a second, and then answered:
“So am I. We’ve to camp out to-night, and there’s no use in waiting
till morning afore we do it. Ain’t it lucky you brought your blanket
with you? It would go hard to do without that to-night.”
“I brought it with me by merest chance, not thinking I should need it.
It was indeed fortunate; and now let us prepare to use it.”
There was not much choice on the hard but warm earth. My blanket was
ample and sufficient for us both. After some search, a small
depression was selected, and in this I spread my heavy blanket. We
then stretched ourselves upon it, pulled the ends over us, being sure
to inclose our rifles in its folds, and resigned ourselves to sleep.
In that lone hour, I forgot not that there was one arm upon which I
could rely, and One only who could watch over me until morning, and to
that protection I appealed.
Ere the sun was fairly above the horizon, we were up and upon our way.
Knowing the company would not be in motion for several hours, we hoped
to reach them before they breakfasted, and have a laugh over our
night’s adventure. Nat led the way, and took long, rapid strides over
the ground, seemingly oblivious of the existence of any one else. I
kept beside him, now and then venturing a remark, but receiving no
answer or intimation that I was heard.
Suddenly, my friend came to a dead halt, dropped the butt of his rifle
to the earth with a ringing clamp, and wheeled upon me with one of
those indescribable looks. I had seen these before, so that I knew
something unusual was agitating him.
“What’s the trouble now?”
“It’s no use; we’ll never see that company agin.”
“What makes you think thus?”
“I know so. I had a dream last night that my mare was gone for ever
and ever, and I know she is. Don’t you remember that fur agent told us
they’d change the direction they’s traveling some time yesterday? They
hadn’t done it when we left them, and they done it as soon as we got
out of sight, I warrant.”
I now remembered hearing our guide remark, as also did the fur agent
with us, that the trail we were following made an abrupt bend some
miles ahead. We were traveling northeast at that time, and the
contemplated change was nearly due southwest. This fact had entirely
escaped our minds, until it now occurred to Nat, and we had,
consequently, been proceeding in a wrong direction. By referring to
the sun, we found we had gone far too much to the east in order to
intercept the train, which was now in all probability many leagues to
the southwest.
This was a discovery which was overwhelming. We had then been
journeying in a direction which had brought us not a foot nearer the
company than if we had remained motionless; and it was certain that
the party was irrecoverably lost.
“This is a pleasant discovery, Nat.”
“Very.”
“I see no hope for your mare. She is probably a good day’s journey
distant, and we do not know what direction to take to reach her.”
“That’s it,” replied Nat, ill-humoredly; “if I knowed sure what way to
tramp to find her, I wouldn’t stop till I’d laid my hands on her for a
certainty; but this trudging along, and just as like as not going away
from her all the time, isn’t the thing.”
“I see no course left then, but to proceed south, in the hope of
falling in with some emigrant train, or in striking the Oregon trail,
north, and getting into California ahead of them.”
“The Oregon trail will have to be our destination, then. If these
fellows find they’ve got the start of us, they won’t give us a chance
to come up again, and we might as well try to catch the whirlwind as
to follow them. No; we must try the ready for them when they come.
How far is the trail off?”
“It can’t be more than a day’s journey; the trail follows the Platte
through Nebraska, and I’m pretty sure we can reach it by nightfall, if
we proceed pretty steadily and rapidly.”
The day was clear and pleasant, and the sky devoid of the least signs
of threatening storm. There were two or three white clouds straggling
off in the western horizon, but the sky was of a deep clear blue. We
were now proceeding in a northward direction, intending to strike the
Platte at the nearest point. South, east, and west the small waving
hills of the prairie stretched, unrelieved by the slightest object,
except in the west the far-off outline of some mountain-peak was just
visible, resembling a slight pointed cloud against the blue sky. This
disappeared at noon, and we were again like wanderers upon the
illimitable sea. A short time after, Nat’s keen vision detected a
number of black, moving specks far to the westward.
“An emigrant train, perhaps,” I suggested.
“They’re Pawnee Injins as sure as the world, and we’d better give them
a wide berth.”
“Pawnee Indians! How do you know that? You never have been in this
section before?”
“That’s true, but you don’t s’pose I started out here without first
larning something ’bout the country and folks, do you? If you do,
you’re mighty mistaken. Just let me know in what part of the country
we are, and I’ll let you know what sights you will see, that is, if we
are going to see any at all. But let’s keep to the east; I don’t want
to keep them Pawnees in sight.”
“The Pawnee Indians are reported friendly to the whites.”
“Exactly; but have they been reported honest? If they should come upon
us and take a fancy to our rifles, what is there to prevent them from
taking them? And,” added Nat, with a shrewd shake of his head. “I’ve
not faith enough in their good intentions to want ’em in sight at this
particular time.”
There was a great deal of reason in his remarks, and it was not
unwillingly that I turned my face more to the northeast, and soon saw
them disappear from view.
Some time toward the middle of the afternoon we descried a solitary
buffalo ahead. He had apparently left his friends and wandered about
as though entirely lost. After considerable difficulty we approached
nigh enough to bring him down. He was quite poor, and his flesh was
strong and Oregon trail, and get into California first, and be tough;
but we were glad enough to get it, such as it was. He was thrown on
his face, with his knees bent under him, a keen knife run along the
spine with just sufficient force to penetrate the skin, which was then
pulled down each side. This done, we cut the choice portions out. Nat
reserved the buffalo-skin for his blanket, and the rest was thrown
away. We made a hearty meal, and about the middle of the afternoon
again set forward, hoping to accomplish quite a distance ere
nightfall.
Just at dark we reached a stream of considerable size, which I
afterward learned was the Republican Fork of Nebraska. The point at
which we struck it, was about where it leaves the territory of Kansas
and enters Nebraska. Although no considerable stream, we concluded not
to cross it before morning, and we made arrangements for passing the
night upon its banks. There was considerable timber at different
points, and a goodly quantity of driftwood lay scattered along its
banks. As the river was quite low, we gathered several armfuls, and
had a fire soon started. We had brought some meat of the slain buffalo
with us, but concluded not to cook supper, as our appetites were
satiated.
Seated round our fire, half-hidden in a depression in the river
bottom, with the dark, glistening stream flowing silently by, and
smoking our pipes, we naturally fell into an easy conversation.
“We can’t be far from the ‘trail,’ can we?” asked Nat.
“Farther than I suspected,” I answered. “The Republican Fork, which I
am convinced is the stream out there, is over fifty miles from the
Platte, which, with several other streams must be crossed before the
trail is reached.”
“Fudge! I don’t believe I can head off them fellows after all, and my
old mare and overcoat will go to thunder.”
“They will go _somewhere_ where you will never see them again.”
“I _know_ I’m bound to lose ’em, and I shan’t think any more about
them.”
“That’s the best plan, Nat. They are no great loss.”
“I sh’d like to know whether that greaser or fur agent took them
though,” interrupted my friend, earnestly.
After this he fell into a fit of musing, and we remained silent for
some time. When the fire had burnt low, I arose and replenished it.
Nat looked anxiously at the roaring blaze, carrying ashes and cinders
high in the air, and reflecting far out upon the dark river, and he
remarked:
“Wonder if some Injins won’t see that.”
“I guess not. We are so low down the bank that I think it can be
visible for no considerable distance upon the prairie, and the bend in
the river fortunately saves us from view up or down the stream. The
only point from which it would attract attention is directly across
from us.”
“And it looks suspicious enough there,” repeated Nat, in a whisper,
removing his pipe and gazing across the river.
It did indeed look gloomy, forbidding, and threatening. Our fire was
nearly on the level with the water, which rolled darkly and noisily at
our very feet; and when its crackling blaze arose higher than usual,
the low face of the opposite shore was struck by the light. At such
times I could not help reflecting what favorable chances were afforded
any foe who might be lurking opposite. I involuntarily shrunk from the
fire, and felt relieved when the shore blended with the darkness.
It began to grow quite late, the fire had smoldered low, when Nat,
removing his cap, turned upon me with:
“What do you think of our journey to California?”
I was at a loss to comprehend his meaning, and looked at him for an
explanation.
“I mean to ask whether you feel in such a hurry to get to mines as you
did when we were in Independence?”
Now, to confess the truth, the experience of the last week or two, and
especially of the last two days, had done much toward dampening the
ardor which I once thought could never leave me; and I believe, had I
possessed moral courage enough, I should have seized the first
opportunity to return to the comforts of a home, where I possessed
enough to satisfy any sensible person’s ambition. Still I hesitated to
commit myself.
“I cannot say that I am; but what induced you to----”
“I’m sick of this business,” interrupted Nat, lengthening his legs
with a spiteful jerk, and looking disgustedly into the fire.
“What has come over you?” I asked, half-amused at his manner.
“Well there’s that mare----”
“But you promised not to think of her.”
“How can I help it, I should like to know? She’s gone sure, and
there’s that overcoat, that cost me four dollars and a half in Lubec;
and Alminy made a big pocket in it on purpose for me to fill full of
gold chunks; and I should like to know how I am going to do it, when a
Greaser has got it.”
“I am afraid that that would not be the only difficulty you would be
likely to experience, Nat, in getting it filled.”
“And my jack-knife was in the coat-pocket, I declare!” exclaimed he,
suddenly starting up and pinching alternately one pocket and then
another. “Yes, sir, that’s gone, too; that’s worse than all the rest,”
he added, despairingly, falling upon his elbow, and gazing
abstractedly into the fire.
“That’s a trifling loss, surely, as you have your hunting-knife.”
“I’ve a good notion to get up and go back now,” he added, not heeding
my remark. “I’m sick of this business. It’s bad enough to lose the
mare, but when the knife is gone I can’t stand it.”
I knew this was but a momentary despondency with my friend, and for
the sake of whiling away the time before sleep, I was inclined to
humor it.
“But what will you do for that gold that you was going to buy Deacon
Hunt’s farm with for your Alminy?”
“Let her go without it,” he answered, gruffly, without removing his
gaze from the fire. “She can get along without it. I believe she only
coaxed me to go off to Californy to get me out of the way, so that
mean Bill Hawkins might take my place. If he does come any such game,
he’ll catch it when I get back.”
I laughed deeply, but silently, as I witnessed his appearance at these
remarks. It was so earnest and feeling, that it was impossible to
resist its ludicrousness.
“Nat,” said I, after a moment’s thought, in which my mind had taken an
altogether different channel, “I am free to own that I have little
faith in our success in California. I left home in a flush of
excitement, without considering the consequences of such a rash step,
and they are now beginning to present themselves. I propose that we
seek our fortune elsewhere. The fact that gold exists in California is
now known all over the world, and we know there is not the remotest
corner of her territory which is not swarming with hundreds who leave
no means untried to amass their fortunes. I have no desire to wrangle
and grope with them, and would much rather seek wealth elsewhere.”
“But where else?”
“If gold exists in one spot on the Pacific coast, it is right to
suppose it exists in many others, and what is to prevent our finding
it?”
“Have you thought of any place?”
“It seems to me that in Oregon, among the spurs of the Rocky
Mountains, there must be fabulous quantities of the precious metal.”
“But why hasn’t it been found?”
“Oregon is thinly settled, and no suspicion has led them to search for
it.”
“Well, let us dream upon it.”
A few more fagots were forthwith heaped upon the fire, and then we lay
down for the night’s rest.
My companion had lain but a minute, when he suddenly sprang to his
feet, and exclaimed:
“Hurrah for Oregon!”
“Be careful,” I admonished; “your indiscretion may be fatal. That wall
of darkness across the river looks gloomy and threatening enough to
me.”
“It does--hello! I’m shot--no, I ain’t, neither.”
That instant the report of a rifle burst from the other bank, and the
bullet whizzed within an inch of my companion’s face.
“Heavens! are we attacked!” I ejaculated, starting back from the fire.
“I believe so,” replied Nat, cowering behind me.
We listened silently and fearfully, but heard no more. The fire
smoldered to embers, the river grew darker, and the night, moonless
and cold, settled upon us. But no sleep visited my eyelids that night.
Till the gray dawn of morning I listened, but heard no more.