Monday, July 10.
Just when we had mounted our ponies for our morning ride, Mr. Walker
came and asked us to go with him to the top of a mountain we could see
far ahead and to the right of the road. He said, “The prospect is very
fine, indeed, from that mountain-top. I was there two years ago.”
Cash and Neelie were included in the invitation, also Mary Gatewood,
but their fathers would not let them go. So Nellie Bower and I were the
only ones who were allowed to accept his invitation. We rode our ponies
until the ascent became too steep, and then dismounted and climbed. It
was a hard climb, but we were amply paid. The view was magnificently
grand. We found Mr. Walker’s name where he had cut it in the soft stone
two years ago, and we left our names, with date and former place of
residence, cut in the stone. There were hundreds of names there, but
I looked in vain for a familiar one. I wonder if any one that we know
will find ours? We passed the graves of two men this morning who had
been killed by the Indians. What a sad fate; God forbid that any of
our men or boys should die such a death.
We are camping near a military post--Virginia Dale. It is just as
beautiful as the name would imply. There are soldiers here for the
protection of emigrants passing through these hills and mountains.
Cash and I were riding with the captain when we came to the station.
The officer in charge came out to speak to the captain and asked some
significant questions, “How long have you been in the hills?”
“Two days and nights.”
“Where have you camped?”
“In that basin about eighteen miles back. We stayed over Sunday.”
“Have the Indians troubled you?”
“We have seen no Indians.”
He seemed greatly surprised, and said, “There has been no train come
over that road within the last month without trouble, especially where
you stayed over Sunday. Did not you notice those cañons in every
direction? The Indians could surround you before you could know there
was one near. The hills are full of Indians.”
He told the captain where to camp, and where to send the stock for
safety and protection. The captain thanked him, and we were starting on
when the McMahan train came in sight.
“Ah, ha!” he exclaimed, “I see now why you have not been molested. Just
keep that train in sight, and you need have no fear of Indians.” And he
just doubled up laughing until it was embarrassing to us.
“But why? Why will that train be a protection more than another?”
“Don’t you see that portable engine lifted away up there, and all those
iron pipes? The Indians think it is cannon, or some sort of machinery
invented for their destruction; no doubt they believe it could kill
them by the hundreds, though the mountains stood between it and them.”
So that is why we have not been molested. We have heard of
depredations before and behind us, but we have not seen an Indian.
Blessings on the McMahan train; I hope we will not lose sight of it
while we are in this Indian country.
We have passed through some very narrow cañons to-day, where there was
barely room for one wagon to pass. Great rocks were hanging overhead
on one side, with a rushing stream beside and just below the road on
the other. There are beautiful waterfalls in the cañons. I was standing
watching one of the highest, waiting for the wagons to pass. The last
one had gone when Mr. Morrison came and peremptorily commanded me to
“Come on, Miss Sallie. The I-I-I-Indians will c-c-c-carry you off some
of these days,” he stuttered. Of course I went.
The captain’s orders are, “Do not leave camp this evening.” We were
only just corralled when I saw Lyde Walker climbing a near-by
mountain. It is the first time I have known her to leave camp since we
came into the Black Hills; she is very much afraid of Indians. When she
came back I asked, “Why, Lyde, did you not hear the captain’s order
that we were not to leave camp this evening?”
“Oh, there is no danger when the men are on guard and watching. It
is when they feel secure and are not looking out for them that I am
afraid. Indians do not molest people when they are expecting them.”