CAMP FIRE YARNS AT THREE CROSSINGS
The Prince of Darkness has been highly honored by the trappers in the
West in the nomenclature of various freaks of nature, in the same
manner, though perhaps not with the same devout spirit, as the names of
saints have been perpetuated by the early Christian fathers, who
established their missions in the southwest along the trail of the
Spanish conquerors.
The names applied to objects often afford a clue to the character of the
men who first applied them. Although no signs of human life or
habitation were visible along this part of the Sweetwater, not only
because of hostile Indians but chiefly because of predatory outlaws, who
were said to live in seclusion in these mountains, this location had won
and maintained a very bad repute. It is, therefore, not strange that the
remarkable cleft in the vast pile of granite through which the rushing
torrent of the Sweetwater here crowds its way, became known as Devil's
Gate. When we saw the dark and massive walls of the shadowy opening
looming upon our right, we were almost prepared to see his Satanic
Majesty or some of his minions emerge from its imposing portals, but as
all seemed to be serene, we might safely conclude that,
"From his brimstone bed at break of day
A-walking the Devil is gone,
To look at his snug, little farm of the World,
And see how his stock went on--"
This chasm is about six miles from Independence Rock, and there were
believed to be many herds of stolen stock concealed back in the valleys
beyond what would seem to be an eastern spur of the Sweetwater range of
mountains. Ben, Fred, Paul and I undertook an exploration of the summit
of the mountain and also of the gorge, which we entered at the point
from which the stream emerges from the chasm. We followed up the right
bank of the river, clambering over the rocky shore, all of which proved
rather an easy task. From a slight elevation we were able to look
through the entire extent of the chasm, which appeared to be about
twelve hundred feet in length, and varied from four to ten rods in
width. In the narrowest pass it is compressed within walls hardly more
than two rods apart. The sides of the cliffs rise to a height of about
four hundred feet. Why and how the river forced its way through this
isolated, granite cone, seems a mystery, as there is apparently no
obstacle to prevent its flowing undisturbed round the lower borders of
the south slope. Some great convulsion of nature must have split the
mountain through its center and opened this channel. The chasm was
certainly not formed by erosion, for the sides of the cliff expose a
face of grey, weather-stained granite, with perpendicular seams and
scoriated trap rock.
Reaching the narrowest point in the gorge we found it impossible to
proceed further, as the swift, foaming waters of the rapids swept along
the base of the high walls, rushing over and between the broken masses
of rock that had tumbled down, leaving no footing near the banks of the
stream.
At this narrow point we discovered four or five groups of names painted
upon the face of a granite cliff and beneath a low, over-hanging rock
that protected them from the tempest. Among them, neatly printed with
blue ink, were what appeared to be the names of the members of a small
party. The last name in this group was Emily Wheeler and was followed by
the date July, 1864. We thought little more of this young explorer
until, on the following day, while riding a few miles westward beyond
Devil's Gate, my attention was attracted to a small board standing about
a fourth of a mile south of the trail and apparently placed there to
mark the spot. Led by curiosity, I rode through the sage brush and found
upon a little barren knoll a grave at which the board had been squarely
set. Upon this marker painted in blue ink, were the following words: "To
the memory of Emily Wheeler, who died July 19, 1864--age 17 years." It
was the same name, the same month, and the same neat lettering that we
had seen on the cliff and it was printed with the same kind of ink. On
the rocks I remembered having seen below the names and also in blue ink
the word "Illinois." We, therefore, inferred that the party came from
that state. There were crowded into those few words painted in blue the
outlines of a sad story. They fairly illustrated an experience that
befell nearly every party of emigrants, who in those days made the long
and hazardous trip across that country. Some one without doubt knows the
rest of the story of Emily Wheeler and the different circumstances under
which the two inscriptions were written. It would appear that her
friends were compelled to leave her in that far away wilderness, over
which the Arapahoe hunted his game, where,
"No tears embalm her tomb,
None but the dews by twilight given,
Where not a sigh disturbs the gloom,
None but the whispering winds of heaven."
The Sweetwater River becomes smooth and placid immediately after it
emerges from the Devil's Gate, flowing on quietly through picturesque
scenery. Westward from this point the granite ridges rise from the
northern bank of the river in rugged cliffs. The country in general,
while very interesting, is barren, the chief vegetation being the
artemesia or wild sage, which in those parts is found growing to a large
size, so as to furnish very good fuel.
On the evening of July 26, 1866, we camped at Three Crossings, forty-two
miles west of Platte Bridge. Within a few rods it was necessary to ford
the rapidly running Sweetwater three times. The number of these
crossings doubtless gave rise to the name by which this place seems to
have been known. It was also recognized as one of the most dangerous
sections of the western country for peaceful travelers, by reason not
only of the frequent attacks of Indians, but also of the fact that bands
of white thieves and robbers had made their headquarters near there
somewhere in the mountains, and were quite as much to be feared as were
the savages. In 1865 William F. Cody (who became known as Buffalo Bill)
accepted this precarious route as a stage driver, and here met with some
of the experiences that contributed to his fame.
In the following season, the year of our trip, the stages were
transferred to the southern route on account of these frequent Indian
raids and attacks of robbers. On one trip, near Three Crossings, Cody
sustained an attack of several hundred Sioux. The Division Agent sat
upon the box of the stage with Cody. There were also seven passengers
inside the stage, all well armed, as was almost the invariable custom.
Cody applied the lash to the horses, amid a shower of arrows, some
piercing the stage, some wounding the frightened animals. The agent who
sat with Cody was also dangerously wounded. The men inside the box kept
themselves busy with their rifles and revolvers from their less exposed
position, and as the stage rattled over the rocky road brought a few of
the savages low and held the enemy at bay. It was a running fight in
which the bleeding and terrified horses fully bore their part. Cody was
able to reach Three Crossings, where men at the station joined in the
fight and forced the Indians to fall back. I am informed by Colonel Cody
that this is the event which in the earlier days of his Wild West show
he endeavored to picture in as realistic a manner as possible, with a
score of tamed red men with repeating rifles.
After our supper a few of us forded the river and climbed some distance
up into the mountain, obtaining a fine view of the country and
incidentally creating no little diversion by rolling huge, detached
rocks found on the edge of the cliffs in terrific and resistless course
down to the valley beneath. A young man from Creighton's outfit, no more
than sixteen years of age, accompanied us, and finally at parting
announced that he would return by a different path from that which we
were taking. The days at that season of the year being long, we
concluded the day's journey before sunset. Dropping down to rest, after
reaching camp, we heard a voice faintly sounding, as if from the sky. It
came from the youth, who was still far up the mountain side and that
moment in the full light of the setting sun. He was evidently seeking to
attract our attention to his perilous position, for he was poised at a
dizzy height, several hundred feet above us on a very slight projection,
where he appeared like a moving speck. From his point of observation he
was unable to decide upon the safest course for descent. The air being
very still, his friends from across the river were able to advise him as
to the difficulties below him. His voice could be heard distinctly from
the distance. In his descent, his garments had already been torn to
shreds as the result of sliding down the rough rocks, and now, as he
informed us, the soles of his boots were so slippery that he could not
retain his footing. The boots were soon rattling down the cliffs. Plans
were made to secure a rope, which might be lowered to him from above,
leaving one end fastened at a higher point. The night, however, was fast
coming. Watchers, who could do little for him, expected at almost any
moment to see his body tumble down the cliffs. The youth was favored by
the twilight, long after he was lost to our sight in the dim shadows. It
was some time after dark when friends bore the little fellow across the
river, where others quickly gathered. He was bleeding and torn. The
flesh on the soles of his feet was worn nearly to the bone. Although
physically almost a wreck, he had such youthful vigor as in a few days
put him again on duty.
When the night closed upon us, our camps were pitched along the south
bank of the clear Sweetwater River. At the west, the campfire of
Creighton's train lighted up a little circle, around which were gathered
the drivers, except such as were standing guard for the stock. In our
camp nearby, the tin plates had been retired and Deacon Cobb and some
others of the older members of the party had gone to bed early to keep
warm; for the night, although bright and beautiful, was cool.
Having in mind some extravagance in the use of fuel, Ben, Fred, and I
had harvested a good supply of sage brush, which we turned in at the
Warne camp with the view of making the evening as cheerful as possible.
Everything there was in readiness, when we chanced to meet Tom Soon and
succeeded in leading him down to the big fire, where welcome was
accorded him and the seat of honor, on the end of an empty water keg.
During a little preliminary conversation, and as if settling down to the
peaceful enjoyment of his comfortable environment, he mechanically drew
out his tobacco pouch and slowly filled his pipe, lighting it with a
burning stick found near the edge of the fire.
Mr. Warne was half reclining upon some robes, his three daughters
nestling very close to him, and his wife, in a more dignified position,
occupied a camp chair nearby. The rest of our party completed the
circle. From time to time one would tell a story and others would hum a
tune, while all watched the changing pictures in the fire or a sudden
flash of light from the burning sticks which now and then, for a moment,
illuminated the figures in the circle.
We were anxious to hear more from Tom, and finally when he had concluded
a graphic description of a war-dance which he had recently witnessed,
one of the young ladies said, "Mr. Soon, can you tell us why Indian
warriors wear so many feathers and decorate their heads in so grand a
fashion, while their women dress more simply? Does it not seem
childish?"
"Well," Tom replied, "Indians are creatures who follow their tribal
fashions, but their fashions don't change very much. An incident now
comes to my mind that shows how the fashions of others sometimes impress
the Red Man and also an old fellow like me, when those fashions are seen
for the first time. Two or three years ago, Billy Comstock, the scout,
and I were instructed to talk with some Ogallalla Chiefs, and arrange
to have them visit Washington City and see the Great Father, President
Lincoln. It was believed that if they could learn from personal
observation that the country was great and powerful, they would not wish
longer to fight the whites. Well, we induced them to go, so I went with
them and the Indian Agent as far as St. Louis. We stayed over night at
the Planter's House, in that city. I had been out West a long time and
was almost as green as the Indians were, concerning the existing
fashions and customs of civilized people. Well, we got rooms for them,
but what does a wild Indian know about a bed? Of course the blankets
were all over the floor and so were the Chiefs. They couldn't get into a
bed any more than they could use the things on the table. They thought
the pillows were the funniest things they ever saw. One of the Indians
was astonished on approaching a big looking glass. He thought he saw a
warrior that he had never seen before coming right at him. But what do
you think they did when they saw the women on the street? It was about
that time when women began to wear big dresses and hooped skirts. I had
never myself seen such dresses until then. They didn't wear them when I
was a boy. The Indians were starting up the sidewalk through the crowd,
in a sort of single file as they generally do, and three fine women came
along wearing those big dresses and grand bonnets on their heads. Of
course the women didn't realize how strange they appeared to us, but
they were interested in the Indians and stopped to look at the Chiefs
who wore blankets and big feathers. The Indians were also interested in
the women, and they stopped in front of the ladies, who wore skirts
almost big enough for tents, and strange feathers in their bonnets. For
a minute both parties looked at each other's toggery.
"The Indians were astonished to see the women so big around and wearing
such gorgeous things on their heads. Of course the ladies quickly looked
the Indians all over at a glance, just as they would at any curious
thing in a show, and as they have a right to, and they especially looked
at the feathers on the Indians' heads. At the same time the Chiefs, who
were equally interested in the ladies' dresses, almost surrounded the
women, before they realized the situation. You know that an Indian feels
that it is proper to examine carefully anything that interests him. The
Indians do that when they come into our cabins, in fact, it is their
custom, so they proceeded at once to examine the ladies' wardrobe very
carefully, before the ladies realized that they themselves were also
objects of interest; but the Indians did not go very far in their
investigation, for the women gave a yell loud enough for any Sioux and
broke into a run. Some of the white people's fashions seem to be as
ridiculous to the wild Indian as theirs are to you, and may be more so,
for you see pictures of other people, and the Indians do not."
"That's all right, Tom," said Mr. Warne, "fashion is sometimes only a
freak."
An old fellow with a big red mustache, whose name I failed to obtain,
but who was addressed as Conk, standing somewhat in the background,
overheard Tom's story. At its conclusion, he broke in with a
remark--"Say, Tom, don't you remember about that Assiniboine Wi-jun-jun,
the son of the Chief, who went to Washington?"
"Yes, of course I do," was the reply, "but let's have it."
We all called for the story, and as nearly as can be given from
memoranda that I took at the time, his talk ran like this:
"I ain't much on telling stories," (said the trapper) "but some of
these young Indian bucks are about as much dandies as any of the white
folks. You know Major Sanford was the Indian Agent for the Assiniboine
tribe, and as a lot of chiefs from other tribes were going down the
Missouri to go to see the President in Washington, he went for
Wi-jun-jun, because he was tall and wore more feathers and put on more
d--d style with his people than any other Injun on the river."
"Don't swear, Conk," interjected Tom.
"Excuse me, ladies,--but as I was saying, he would go around on the
steamboat when he was going down the river, so the people and the other
Injuns would look at him just as fine dressed white men do when they
think they are better than common folks. But he was a d--d good fighter!
Excuse my swearing, ladies.
"Well, he got to Washington with the rest of 'em and thought he was a
devil of a fellow, when everybody, men and women, looked at him,--more'n
they did at the rest of 'em. He and the rest of 'em were took aroun' to
see the ships and the cannon and they went to the theatre, and he sot
where everybody could see him. They knew the Injuns were going to be
there, but that d--d fool--excuse my swearin,' ladies--that d--d fool
thought he was a devil of a fellow. He felt bigger than ever when they
wanted his clothes and feathers to hang up in some show place there, so
he let'em have'em in trade for some American soldiers' clothes made for
a general,--and the Agent agreed to let him wear his Injun clothes until
he got back as far as St. Louis.
"They boarded the first steamboat that Mr. Chouteau sent up the river
that spring, and Sanford went with 'em and took Wi-jun-jun into his room
on the boat, and helped him change his clothes, for how in hell--excuse
my swearing, ladies--could an Injun get into a general's clothes, and
get 'em on right?
"After a while when he came out on deck, he had on a blue broadcloth
general's coat, with high collar and with gilt epaulets on the
shoulders, and a tall beaver hat. He had on a belt with a big sword, and
he had on long-top high-heeled boots. He had learned on this trip to
smoke cigars, and Sanford brought him out and was as solemn as a
funeral, and Wi-jun-jun was smoking a cigar, and marched out on deck
with all that toggery on. The sword got between his legs and his hat was
on the back of his head and his long black hair hung down behind. There
wasn't only a few white passengers on the steamboat and they got tired
of him pretty soon, but when they all got to the Yellowstone, of course,
Major Sanford and his Injuns got off at their town, and that
cuss--excuse my swearing, ladies--that d--d cuss walked up through their
village and for awhile wouldn't look at any of 'em--even his wife. But
Sanford had give him two bottles of whiskey, and they both stuck out of
his split-tail coat pockets, and pretty soon he commenced on the
whiskey. The next day the sleeves of his coat were on his wife's legs
for leggins, which she thought was pretty fine, and the gold lace of his
clothes were on women in the tribe, and the epaulet things were in their
hair, and the dandy purty soon hadn't a d--d thing left--excuse my
swearing, ladies--but I hear'n you talking about how feathers looked to
you on an Injun and I thought of that d--d Assinboine--excuse my
swearing, ladies; I've got so use to it out here I can't help it. The
thing is, he had shown himself off in soldiers' clothes and don't you
see, ladies, that an Injun must wear Injuns' clothes or he looks
like--well, I came purty near swearing,--but Injun clothes and feathers
are all right for Injuns, but ain't worth a damn for white people."
The trapper bit a big piece from his plug of tobacco, while he received
favorable expressions concerning the history, which he had given and
yet--
"Jack was embarrassed--never hero more--
And as he knew not what to say--he swore."
Many years after our party camped near Red Buttes, the writer discovered
in the second volume of Elliot Coues' notes on _Forty Years a Fur
Trader_, a brief description of the visit of Wi-jun-jun to Washington
and the gift to him of the general's outfit. The portrait of the
warrior-dude is preserved in the Catlin collection.
The mild profanity with which the tale was decorated can hardly be
omitted without robbing it of its peculiar western flavor. Dan Trippe,
who had been listening, finally said, "Mr. Soon, you referred a moment
ago to Billy Comstock. Some of us also knew him very well. A few years
ago Comstock was well known in Colorado."
"He was," replied Tom, "and he helped might'ly in that Sand Creek
affair. Of course, we know him as Buffalo Bill."
Tom was asked to tell about that fight. "I know all about it," he
replied, "but I don't know as it's right to tell the women about these
Indian scalpings." Tom was assured that when women were out where things
were going on, they were no more nervous than men were. They all had
guns and ought to know the true condition of things.
"All right," said Tom. "Well, it was like this. A year ago last August
the Indians began a series of raids, going for everything and everybody
along the stage route from Julesburg _east_. I think they cleaned out
every ranch and attacked every train and stage that passed in that two
hundred and fifty or three hundred miles. More than forty people were
killed by them. The most severe fight was at Liberty Farm, east of Fort
Kearney near where you crossed the Little Blue River. There was a small
train of wagons loaded with goods for George Tritch of Denver. The
entire party of whites were killed, including a stage driver and the
station keeper, and there was a young woman there named Mrs. Eubanks,
and her child, whom they did not then kill, and the Indians run them
off, and that is really what brought on the Sand Creek Battle. The
Indians were Arapahoes. The people of Denver were greatly excited when
the news reached there. Before his train was attacked Tritch had heard
of the troubles, and having so many valuable goods coming along that
line he talked with Colonel Chivington, and they arranged with Billy
Comstock and Oliver Wiggins to go out at once, and ascertain where the
Indians were, and what they were then planning to do. Billy went down
the Republican River and Wiggins went down the Platte. They were good
scouts and spoke Arapahoe well. Billy had been interpreter for the
government several times. He knew many of the Chiefs. Billy's route was
away from the line of travel. He overtook a large party of Arapahoes
quite a way down the Republican, and after he had watched their
movements for awhile, he run up to the Platte and reported, and then he
went back and had a talk with the Indians. He kept watch on that band,
but it was another party of Indians who made the raid that I have told
of. After the Liberty Farm massacre, Comstock and Wiggins with a few
soldiers from the Plum Creek Station started out and followed the
Indians southward and overtook them. They saw the young woman riding
behind Chief Two Face, and then Billy and his soldiers had a fight with
the Indians, but the soldiers were greatly outnumbered and lost most of
their horses.
"In November, Colonel Chivington started out with his forces and after
one long night march, the scouts led them to Sand Creek, where they
surrounded the Indian village and then the fight was on. It was a
slaughter. Chivington said to his soldiers, 'Nits make lice,' which
meant that it was a battle to the finish, and that they need not stop
with the old Indians; women and children were to be killed as well.
"Some people criticized Colonel Chivington very bitterly, declaring that
this warfare was brutal and uncivilized, but the people of Denver gave
him a gold mounted rifle as a token of their good will. The Chief and
three or four others escaped in the night with Mrs. Eubanks and they
were caught later and strung up. The queerest thing about the hanging
was that the Colonel of the troops who caught the Chiefs telegraphed to
General Connor, in command of the department, that he had the devils in
chains. General Connor replied, 'Then hang them in chains,' and it was
done mighty quick. In a little time the Colonel received another message
from General Connor, instructing him to bring the scoundrels to
Julesburg, because he had decided to give them a trial. The Colonel
telegraphed back to the effect that he 'obeyed his first message before
he received the second.'"
When Tom had finished this recital, the camp fires had nearly all gone
out on the shore of the river, and the bright moon was lighting up the
southern slopes of the Sweetwater Mountains. Through the stillness of
the night was heard the occasional bark of a few coyotes and its echo
reflected from the adjacent mountain-side. Our party separated and
slowly wandered along the river to their respective camps. The manner in
which Cody wrested from Comstock the sobriquet Buffalo Bill, has been
explained in another chapter.