The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
--_Milton_.
Fort Hall Reservation, until 1902, embraced a large territory of which
Pocatello was the center. These Idaho red people are the remnants of
the once powerful tribes of the Bannocks and Shoshones, which ranged
from the Blue Mountains in Oregon to the backbone of the Rocky
Mountains. The compressing processes used by the aggressive white
people have encircled, curtailed, and squeezed their borders so that
now they are centered at Fort Hall, half way between Pocatello and
Blackfoot. Here the government has a school for them, and the
Protestant Episcopal Church a mission.
Pocatello is named for a wily old chief of that name, who became an
outlaw to be reckoned with. He once led a cavalcade of his sanguinary
followers against the newly made non-Mormon town of Corinne, Utah;
but a Mormon who had been notified of the proposed massacre, by a
coreligionist, likewise told a friend among the Gentiles, and a
precautionary counter plan was formulated. Nothing more came of it
than an evening visit from Brigham Young and his staff, who, as
reported, pronounced and prophesied an awful and exterminating curse
upon the town and people. However, because of the warning, his curses
went elsewhere.
Until recently there lived in the region of the city of Pocatello an
old squaw-man (white man with an Indian wife). His home was within the
borders of the reservation, and he had been there since before the
time when the boundary line between the United States and England
(Canada) was settled. The old man was called "Doc," and once when
visiting him I said, "Tell me about old Pocatello, Doc, and what
became of him."
The old man, half reclining on the pile of household debris in one
corner of his shanty, permitted me to sit by the door--for there were
no chairs in the place. The four corners were occupied as follows: in
one were his saddle and accouterments for range work; in another the
accumulation of rags and blankets on which he slept (for he lived
alone now, the wife being dead); in another was his little stove, and
the last held the door where I sat. The air was fresher there, I
thought. The veteran of eighty or more years, bronzed by the winds and
roughened by the sweeping sands of the desert, lighted his pipe and
said: "It war in the days o' them freighters who operated 'tween
Corinne an' Virginny City when Alder Gulch was a-goin' chock full o'
business. The Forwardin' Company hed a mighty big lot o' rollin' stock
an' hosses to keep the traffic up. The hull kentry was Injun from
put-ni' Corinne to that there Montanny town. The Bear Rivers an' the
Fort Hall tribes, the Bannocks an' the Blackfeet uste to make life
anything but a Fourth-o'-July picnic fer them fellers an' their
drivers. Right h'yur was the natterelest campin' place fer the
Company, or, ruther, a natterel spot fer the stage-station, where they
could git the stock fresh an' new an' go on, as they hed to do, night
an' day, so's to keep business a-movin', ye see. Fer 'twas a mighty
long rout fer passengers.
"Now, Pocatello an' his bunch o' red devils got into the habit o'
runnin' off the stock, an' sometimes the Company'd haf to wait half a
day to git enough teams to go on north; or to wait till the fagged
ones'd git a little rest an' then push on wi' the same ones. Mr.
Salisbury, of Salt Lake, was the head o' the Forwardin' Company, an'
he an' his people got mighty all-fired tired o' that sort o' business.
Hosses was dear them days, but Injuns was cheap; so he told a lot o'
us'ns he'd like tarnation well if this sort o' thing'd stop kind o'
sudden like; an' we planned it might be done jist that way too.
"We kind o' laid low, an' nothin' happened fer quite a while; but one
night a fine bunch o' hosses was run off jist when they's a big lot o'
treasure goin' over the line, an' the management was sure mad. They
told us 'uns agin somethin' had to be done, an' despert quick this
time. So we got busy. We begun to round ol' Pocatello up, an' he
seemed to smell a rat or somethin' wuss, an' started up Pocatello
Crick yander, that there cañon, see? He went almighty fast too when he
got started; so did we, now I tell you, an' we jist kep' a-foller'n',
an' foller'n', an' foller'n', we did--a hull lot ov us--an'--an'--an'
Pocatello never come back."
Then the old squaw-man tapped the ashes from his pipe, and rising
said, "Well, I guess I'll cinch up the cayuse an' ride some this
a'ternoon."