THE TRAPPING GROUNDS.
I was agreeably surprised upon waking to see Nat standing within a few
feet, holding two horses by the bridle.
“Which one will you choose?” he asked with a broad smile.
“How did you come by them?” asked I.
“I s’pose it must have been about the time you left us last night,
that Biddon woke me up, and told me to follow him, as there was a
_powerful_ chance to get a couple of hosses for you and me. I asked
him where you could be, and he said he s’posed you’d gone further
up-stream to sleep by yourself, though he hadn’t seen you go.
Howsumever, we wasn’t worried, as we thought you were old enough to
take care of yourself, so we started down the bed of the stream. We
went about half a mile, when Biddon showed me a small camp-fire,
burned down to a few coals and ashes; but there was enough light to
show us two hosses picketed a few yards away, and we seen the feet of
a couple of redskins turned toward the fire. Biddon said as how they
was a couple of hunters, sound asleep, and we might _borrow_ their
horses, if I didn’t make too much noise. He told me to stand still,
and keep my gun pointed at them, and the minute one stirred to shoot
him, and then rush in, and dispatch the other. I promised to do so,
and he stole around to the hosses on his hands and knees. He had cut
both the lariats and was leading them away, when one of the Indians
raised his head and looked around, and as soon as he seen the hosses
moving off, give a grunt and jumped up and ran toward them. I
remembered it was my duty to shoot, and as the Indian was running
purty fast, I aimed about ten feet ahead of him, supposing, of course,
the villain would git there as soon as the bullet did; but, I’ll be
hanged if he wasn’t mean enough to stop, and let the bullet be wasted.
My gun kicked like blazes, and the Ingins I s’pose thought a whole
tribe was upon them; for setting up a great howl, they _skooted_ off
in the darkness, leaving us alone with the animals. Running back, I
overtook Biddon, who was riding along as though nothing had happened.
He asked me to ride and of course I jumped on, and here I am. But
which hoss do you want?”
“I do not see as there is much room for choice,” I replied; “both are
splendid animals, and a most opportune blessing.”
“If it’s all the same to you, this gentleman is mine;” and handing the
bridle to me, he vaulted upon the other. The latter was a magnificent
Indian pony, of a deep bay color, probably captured when very young,
and high spirited and fiery. Both manifested considerable uneasiness,
knowing they were in the hands of strangers, and Nat’s made one or two
efforts to dislodge him; but he was a good horseman, and maintained
his place with apparent ease despite the struggles, which were frantic
and desperate at first. Mine was somewhat larger, of a coal-black
color, and with as much spirit and fire as the other, but in a few
moments we had them both under perfect control.
Besides these two animals, we gained two fine Indian saddles, and were
now as well mounted as we could wish. Nat remarked, that when the
buffaloes thundered by he felt some apprehension for me, but the
trapper expressed none, saying that I would be found all right in the
morning. As soon as there was light, Nat commenced searching the bed
of the stream for me, and failing in this, he climbed a tree and took
a survey of the prairie on both sides. From his elevation he
discovered what he believed to be my dead body; and, accompanied by
Biddon and the horses, hastened toward me. Upon reaching me, they
understood instantly the whole matter, and it was their loud laughter
that had aroused me.
We were now pretty far to the northwest of Nebraska Territory. The
face of the country was materially different, and I began to notice a
change of temperature. The summer had just closed, and the early
autumn was like the approach of winter. The nights were cool and
chilling, and the days generally mild at noon, but often keen and
exhilarating. The prairie was mostly of the rolling kind, but the
belts of timber were more common, and the vegetation richer and more
exuberant. It was plain, too, that we were journeying into a section
where the foot of civilization had not been. The vast, undulating
swell of the prairie, the mighty fields of verdure, and the broad
rivers and streams, bore only the marks of the red man and wild beast.
Toward noon, Nat descried a solitary antelope far ahead. It was near a
grove of timber, from which it had just wandered, and stood gazing
wonderingly at our approach. We rode on in silence for some time, when
Biddon raised his hand for us to halt.
“What do you intend doing?” I asked.
“Jes’ hold on and see,” he replied, as he dismounted.
He made a circuit, skirting the prairie, so as to reach the grove
mentioned upon the opposite side from the antelope. I still was at a
loss to understand his intention, as the animal was too distant from
the timber to be brought down with a rifle-shot from that point.
“What under the sun does he intend doing?” I asked, turning to Nat.
“Guess he’s getting off there to shoot us.”
On the outer edge of the grove, next to the antelope, I saw him
emerge, holding a stick over his head, to which was affixed a
handkerchief or rag. He walked a short distance, and then lay down
flat upon the prairie, perfectly concealed in the grass. The rag was
visible, fluttering above him. I now watched the motions of the
antelope. He stood gazing at us, until the trapper came into view,
when, with a startled glance at him, he wheeled and ran. In a moment,
however, he paused and turned quickly around. His looks were now fixed
upon the fluttering signal. He stood motionless a moment, and then
cautiously lifting his foot, made a step toward it. Thus he continued
to approach, step by step, with apparent fear, and yet evidently
impelled by an ungovernable curiosity, until he was scarce a hundred
yards distant from the prostrate form of the trapper. Still he was
moving stealthily onward, when suddenly a red tongue of fire spouted
from the grass, and, as the sharp crack of Biddon’s rifle reached us,
we saw the antelope give a wild leap into the air, and, bounding a
short distance, fall to the ground. The trapper immediately sprang to
his feet and hastened to the fallen animal.
“Let us ride to him,” said I, walking my horse onward.
We had ridden a short distance when Nat halted and asked:
“What’s got into Biddon? Just look at him!”
I did look up, and for a moment believed the man had turned crazy. He
had seen us approaching, and was now making furious gesticulations
toward us. I watched him a moment, and then remarked:
“He is either signaling for us to come on or to stop.”
“He means us to wait, I guess, and we had better pause until he
returns.”
We reined in our horses and watched him. He was apparently satisfied
with our stopping, and stooped and commenced working at the animal. In
a few moments he arose, and slinging a huge piece on his shoulder,
made his way into the grove. From this he emerged in due time, and
made his way toward us, motioning, meanwhile, for us to remain in our
places.
“Why didn’t you wish us to approach?” I asked, as soon as he came
within speaking distance.
He made no answer, but throwing his meat upon the ground, hastily
mounted his horse. Then he spoke in a deep whisper:
“Boys, did you ’spose there’s over twenty redskins among them trees?”
“Heavens! it isn’t possible?” I exclaimed, catching my breath.
“It’s so; I seed ’em, and thar eyes are on us this minute. They’re
waitin’ for us to go on, an’ they’ll give us thunder and lightnin’.”
“What’s to be done?” queried Nat.
“Jes’ keep still, an’ don’t kick up, or they’ll see it. We’ve got to
make a run for it. Keep close to me, and when I start, let your horses
went.”
“But the meat?” I hurriedly asked.
“Can’t take it. We have a long run, an’ our horses won’t want to carry
no extra load. I didn’t see thar animals, but I guess they ain’t
mounted. Ready!”
With this, Biddon wheeled his horse quickly around, and vanished from
his place with the speed of lightning, while ours almost
simultaneously shot ahead like an arrow. An instant after, I heard
the faint discharge of guns, and, looking back, saw a host of
savage forms pouring hastily from the timber.
[Illustration: “Looking back saw a host of savage forms.”]
“No need of hurrying. They are not mounted,” I called out to Nat, who
has hurrying his horse to the utmost.
“I don’t believe it,” he exclaimed, still speeding furiously onward.
“Go it, Todd! you’ll fetch up at Fort Laramie,” yelled Biddon.
The latter drew his horse into a steady canter, and indulged in
several loud laughs at the flying fugitive. Nat continued his mad
career until he had gone a good distance, when, seeing how far behind
he had left us, he reined up and awaited our approach.
The savages, in the meantime, were hurrying on in pursuit. I know not
what led them to expect any success in this chase, for, as remarked,
not one was mounted. They may have had little faith in the speed or
bottom of our horses, and trusted they would be able to run us down.
Biddon half turned in his seat, and, looking back a moment, asked:
“Do you see that red, diggin’ like all mad off on one side? The one as
is tryin’ to surround us?”
I glanced back and answered in the affirmative.
“Do you want to see a red drop in purty style?”
I answered again in the affirmative.
“Wal, jis keep yer peeper on him.”
So saying, he raised his rifle, without checking the speed of his
horse, took a quick aim along its long barrel and fired. To my
astonishment, the Indian mentioned uttered a wild shriek, and
springing high in the air, fell to the earth.
“He’s done for,” remarked the trapper, quietly. “While I fodder my
iron, ’sposen you try your hand.”
I raised mine to my shoulder, and pointing it toward a conspicuous
savage, pulled the trigger. As might be expected, I came about as near
to him as I did to Nat, in front.
“It will take a long time for me to accomplish that feat,” said I.
“Wal, yer goes agin.”
And again was the fatal rifle discharged, and again did a savage bite
the dust.
Still the pursuers maintained their ground, seemingly determined to
overtake us at all hazards. They were separating and scattering over
the prairie, with the evident intention of hemming us in. At this
moment we came up to Nat.
“Why don’t you run?” he asked, impatiently. “They’ll shoot us all
afore we know it.”
He had scarcely finished his words, when the pursuers did fire, and
with an uncomfortable effect, too. The bullets were plainly heard
whistling through the air beside us, and one actually cut its way
through the upper part of Nat’s hat, some eight or ten inches from the
crown of his head. He dodged nervously, and jerking the hat off his
head, held it up to view.
“Just look there!” he exclaimed, indignantly, putting his finger
through the orifice.
“What of it?” gruffly asked Biddon.
“That’s a pretty question to ask, I should think! I swow I won’t stand
any such work as this.”
And giving his horse the rein, he shot rapidly ahead.
“I guess we mought as well,” remarked Biddon, letting his horse have
free rein.
The race was now decided. At such speed as we went, of course the
pursuers were soon left behind, and in an hour not one was visible,
all of them being either distanced or having voluntarily withdrawn.
Our course was southwest; so that we had lost considerable ground, and
were obliged to make a long _detour_ to regain the trail. We camped at
night about as far south as the previous camp, but farther west. In
the morning we struck due north, and continued in this direction for
several days.
It is not necessary to give the particulars of our journey to the
northwest. We continued traveling onward for three days, when we
reached the region where it was intended we should remain until
spring. This was much further northward than I suspected; in fact, it
was but a few miles distant from the Hudson Bay Territory, and upon
one of the remote tributaries of the Missouri. We had entered a
climate that even now, was like the winter of the one we had left. We
had entered a mighty wilderness, where, ere we left it, we were doomed
to pass through some strange experiences, and of which I now shall
speak.
We had detected signs of beavers at several streams which we crossed
during the last day or two of our journey, but Biddon paid no
attention to them until about the middle of the afternoon, when we
reached a small river, flowing nearly due south, and passing through
the Hudson Bay Territory in its course. This stream we forded, and, as
we reached the opposite side, he remarked:
“Yer’ the spot whar we’re goin’ to squat.”
It is perhaps worth remarking that the section was a wooded country.
We had passed over no clear prairie during the day, and were in the
midst of a deep wood. The trees were of nearly every conceivable
kind--the cottonwood predominating, with oak, elm, ash, walnut, and
such as are common in our own forests.
After crossing, the trapper headed directly up-stream for a short
distance, when he turned to the left and descended into a valley. Here
he dismounted.
“Take yer fixins’,” said he, “and turn the hosses loose.”
“Won’t they wander away?” I asked.
“_Yourn_ may, but mine _won’t_; you’ve got to take your chances,
though. ’Tain’t likely they’ll be ’sturbed, ’cept by grizzlys and
reds.”
The spot selected was a broad bottom of rich grass, inclosed by thick
walls of undergrowth upon every side. Here we left our horses, and,
taking our saddles and trappings, moved away.
“Have you ever been here before?” I asked of the trapper.
“I stayed yer last season, but didn’t ’spect to come back. Howsumever,
I changed my mind, and yer we is. Move keerful and don’t make a big
trail.”
We followed nearly a quarter of a mile directly up-stream, when he
halted, and looked carefully about him.
“I don’t s’pose thar’s reds ’bout, but thar’s no tellin’ whar they is.
I didn’t see none last year, but they mought be ’bout now. Jes’ hold
on a minute.”
The banks of the stream were fringed by a deep under-growth upon both
sides. Stepping forward to the water’s edge, the trapper parted the
branches, and glancing a moment within, motioned for us to approach.
“It’s all right,” said he, “there hain’t been no reds poki’ ’bout yer
while I’s gone.”
With this he stooped and pushed a small canoe into the water and
slipped within it.
We joined him, although our combined weight brought the frail vessel
down to its very gunwales. It was made of bark after the Indian
fashion, very light, but strong. Biddon dipped a long Indian paddle in
the water and we moved slowly up-stream. After going a short distance,
he again touched the bank, and from beneath another lot of shrubbery
drew forth a number of beaver traps. These were similar to the common
trap used in all parts of the world, and set much after the same
fashion, but with a very different bait. At every point where signs of
the animals were visible, he dug down the bank, so as to make a
certain spot perpendicular. Just beneath the surface of the water he
then placed the trap. The next and last proceeding was to smear the
banks around with a very odoriferous oil, obtained from the beaver
itself. This smell attracts the beavers in the vicinity, who
immediately swim to the shore to learn more of it. The trap is so
arranged that one is sure to place his foot directly upon it for
support in ascending the bank, and the natural consequence follows. He
is caught and falls into his mortal enemy’s hands.
“Ef one don’t have a dinner on beaver tails tomorrow, then I’m a
beaver,” remarked Biddon, after he had set all his traps, and headed
his canoe down stream.
“A dinner on beaver tails!” exclaimed Nat, in astonishment. “That must
be a fine dinner, I swow.”
“If you had read much of these animals, you would know that the part
mentioned by Biddon, is the most delicious and nourishing portion,”
said I.
“And when you gits a bite of it, you’ll find it so, I reckons!”
“Perhaps so,” replied Nat, doubtingly; “but whar ar’ you going to take
us?”
“You’ll find out when we get thar.”
The trapper rowed the canoe quite a distance down stream, when he
sheered it into shore close to where a huge chestnut, larger than any
I had ever before witnessed, overhung the water. Its base was
enveloped by a mass of undergrowth, denser than common, and we were
obliged to stoop to the edge of the boat before we could make our way
beneath it. As we sprang up the bank, it pulled up behind us, and I
then noticed that the chestnut was hollow, and had a deep orifice at
its base.
“Foller,” commanded Biddon, stooping and crawling beneath it.
We did so, although there was some hesitation upon my part, and my
astonishment was unbounded at what I witnessed when within. At first
there was nothing visible but the intense darkness, and I stood,
fearful of advancing or retreating.
“Where are you, Biddon?” asked Nat, in a slightly wavering tone. The
next instant the trapper struck a light; and as its rays filled the
chamber, I repeat, my astonishment was unbounded. We were standing in
an open space, at least eight feet in diameter. The chestnut was but a
mere shell, with its trunk but a few inches in thickness at the most.
The interior of this was fitted up like a house. The rotten chunks
upon the sides had been torn down and formed a pleasant, velvety
carpet beneath the feet. All around the _walls_ were hung numerous
furs, and a pile at one side afforded a bed such as we had not enjoyed
for weeks. Added to all this, there was an arrangement so as to make
it perfectly easy and convenient to kindle a fire. Nat was the first
to express his unbounded astonishment.
“This beats all. I never seen anything like it. But don’t the Injins
know anything of it?”
“No, _sir_; and I cac’late as how they won’t neyther, ef you don’t
tell ’em.”
“Oh! I won’t tell them. I swow this is queer,” and he looked slowly
about and above him. “What’s that hole for?” he asked, pointing to a
small orifice just visible far above us.
“That’s fur the smoke to go out.”
“But it must be likely to attract attention,” I remarked.
“I never start a fire ’cept at night.”
“I see--wonderful!” and I, too, gazed admiringly about me. The light
made the whole interior visible. The dark, snuff-colored fragments of
decayed wood hung in ponderous masses above us, and the immense
diameter gradually tapered as it ascended, until only the small
opening, far above, was seen, resembling a faint star. The thickness
of the wood, together with the great number of furs, protected us so
well from the cold, that there could be little need of fire in the
coldest weather, except for cooking purposes.
“This is rather odd, I allow, to you, Jarsey; but ef you had been with
me down on the Yallerstone, you’d seen suthin’ as would’ve made you
look, you would. You may shoot me, ef you wouldn’t.”
“I suppose I should, but not more than this has.”
“Mebbe not, but don’t stand gapin’ there all day. It’s gittin’ dark,
and we’ll have our fodder.”
The fire was now started, and the smoke ascended finely, escaping at
the outlet. A good slice of meat was cooked, and we made a hearty
supper upon it. After this the fire was allowed to slumber, but the
light remained burning until a late hour. We lit our pipes, and
chatted dreamily for a long time in our new home. The trapper, feeling
in the mood, related many reminiscences of his life, including
adventures both tragical and comical, and Nat gave a few of his own
experiences. At a late hour we ceased, and fell into a peaceful,
dreamless slumber.
When I awoke the trapper had disappeared. Nat was stretched beside me
still asleep. In a short time the former entered as noiselessly as he
had departed.
“What fortune?” I asked.
“Good; had two fat fellers. Wake up, and we’ll have a meal as is a
meal.”
Nat soon made a movement, and, after several yawns, became fully
awake. The trapper kindled a small fire, and cooked his beaver tails.
The two made as choice and delicious a meal as I had ever eaten. Nat
was convinced by one taste.
The day was clear and pleasant, and Biddon expressed his determination
of going up the stream in order to see the signs of game. I
accompanied him, but Nat chose to remain at home and sleep a few hours
longer.
We sauntered carelessly forth up the stream through the tangled
underwood. It was a clear day in autumn; the air was keen and bracing,
and the woods gloriously fine. Some of the leaves were just beginning
to fall, and they made a dappled and fiery carpet for our feet,
rustling with a soft, pleasant sound at every step. Now and then we
could hear the shrill notes of some songster of the forest, and once
or twice the faint bay of some distant animal.
We had wandered some distance, when Biddon proposed turning back, as
he had just discovered he had forgotten his pipe. I was too well
pleased, however, with the prospect to retrace my footsteps.
Accordingly, we parted company for a time, he remarking that probably
he would return when he had regained his indispensable article.
Left alone, I now wandered dreamily onward, in a pleasant reverie,
hardly conscious of what I was doing, until I was recalled to my
senses by the grandeur of a new scene that suddenly burst upon my
view. I had ascended a small rise on the bank of the stream, from
which I had an extended view of the river. I stood for a moment wrapt
in the glories of the scene. Far behind could be discerned the broad
bosom of the river, stretching away like a vast body of molten silver,
bordered on either side by the mighty forest, until it disappeared in
a sweeping curve, within the interminable wilderness. Above me for
several miles the same winding course could be seen, brightly
glistening for miles. Not a ripple disturbed the surface, save when a
bird skimmed over it, just tipping its wings, and making a flashing
circle or two. The blue sky above, unflecked by a single cloud,
harmonized so well with the magnificent view, that I stood a long
time, drinking in the splendor of the scene.
My eye was still resting upon the glistening bend of the river above,
when the quietness of the scene was interrupted by a dark speck which
suddenly came in view, around a curve about a mile above. At first I
supposed it to be some animal or log floating upon the surface; but as
I looked at it, I saw to my astonishment that it was a canoe coming
down-stream. Several forms were visible, yet their number, at that
distance, was uncertain. The bright flash of their paddles was visible
in the morning sunshine, and they maintained their place near the
center of the stream.
[Illustration: “In the stern, with a guiding oar, sat a young
female.”]
I scrutinized them, vainly to make out their number, until it occurred
to me that it would be best to make myself invisible. The approaching
canoe might contain nothing but Indians, and it was not desirable that
our presence in this section should be known to any but ourselves. I
slipped behind the trunk of a tree, nearer the water, yet still upon
the elevated knoll, which entirely concealed my body from sight.
From this point I watched the approach of the canoe with interest.
Soon it came nigh enough to enable me to distinguish the forms within
it. There were two Indian warriors seated each with a paddle in his
hand, but not using them, except to keep the canoe in the channel, and
in the stern, with a guiding oar, sat a young female. I supposed her a
squaw, belonging to the same tribe with her companions, and
scrutinized her as closely as my position would permit. She wore a
beautiful head-dress, gayly ornamented with stained porcupine quills
and beads, and a brilliant crimson shawl enveloped her slight form.
The savages maintained their places as motionless as statues, their
gaze apparently resting upon the stream behind them; while that of the
female was fixed upon the stream in front, and her whole attention
absorbed in directing her canoe.
I know not whether the inmates discovered me before I concealed
myself, but I fancied I detected a glance of the Indians at my
hiding-place, as they floated slowly by, and some cause led the
female, when directly opposite, and but a few hundred feet distant, to
turn her face toward me. Judge of my astonishment, at perceiving that
she was not an Indian--but a white woman! Her appearance, as she
turned her gaze directly upon the spot where I was standing, I can
never forget. She was so close at hand, and my view so perfect in the
clear sunlight, that I saw every feature. The pale white face,
surrounded by dark, luxuriant hair falling upon the shoulders, the
dark eyes shaded by long inky lashes, and the mute, untranslatable
look, haunted me for many a night after. She merely glanced toward me,
and slowly floated past.
Dropping upon my hands and knees, I crept hastily from the knoll into
the undergrowth below, and made my way hurriedly but noiselessly to
the stream. I could not have been over a minute in so doing, but when
I reached the water, and peered through the bushes, not a trace of the
canoe was visible. I looked closely into each shore, up and down the
stream, everywhere that I could look, but could not detect the
slightest ripple or movement to account for this mysterious
disappearance. For over an hour I waited in the hope that the canoe
would reappear, but I saw nothing more of it.