ON THE CACHE-LA-POUDRE.--VISIT FROM GRAY EAGLE, CHIEF OF THE
ARAPAHOES.--A BEAR-HUNTER IS HUNTED BY THE BEAR.--PHIL, THE
CANNIBAL.
Uncle Kit, having made quite a sum of money, concluded that he
would take a trip over to the headwaters of the Cache-la-Poudre to
look for a new field where he could trap the coming winter on a
large scale, and wanted Johnnie and I to accompany him, which we
did.
Each taking a saddle-horse and one pack animal, we started on the
trip, taking a new route to Uncle Kit, as well as to Johnnie and
myself.
Carson took the lead, for, like a deer, he could find his way
anywhere he wished to go.
We crossed the Arkansas river above Bent's Fort, and from here we
traveled along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, striking the
Platte at the mouth of Cherry creek, which is now the center of
Denver City, Colo. Here we met Mountain Phil--of whom you will
hear more in this narrative. He was living in a wick-i-up and had
a squaw for a wife. Uncle Kit and I, being acquainted with him,
stopped and had a chat with him while our horses were feeding.
Uncle Kit asked him what he intended to do the coming winter, and
he replied:
"I will trap for you if you like, but you will have to furnish me
with an outfit, for I have none of my own."
"All right, Phil," said Carson, "I will give you a job, but you
will have to stop alone, for none of my men will live with you."
"All right," said Phil, "me and Klooch will be enough to stop in
one cabin, anyway."
These things being understood we rode off, Mountain Phil agreeing
to meet us at Taos about two months from that time.
After we rode away I asked Uncle Kit why no one would live with
Mountain Phil. His reply was, "Phil is a very bad man, and I yet
have to hear the first man speak a good word for him."
Late that afternoon we saw a little band of Indians--ten in
number--coming toward us, and when near them we saw that they were
Arapahoes and Gray Eagle, the chief, was with them. Uncle Kit
being well acquainted, all shook hands, and the chief insisted on
our going to their camp and staying all night with them. Uncle Kit
knowing the nature of the Indians, and knowing that Gray Eagle
would take it as an insult if we should refuse to visit him,
turned about and went home with him. He sent two of his men ahead
to the village, and we were met by about five hundred warriors
with all the women and children of the village. Just at the outer
edge of the village we were honored with what they considered a
great reception.
Gray Eagle took us to his own wick-i-up, his men taking charge of
our horses and packs. I had learned to speak the Arapahoe language
fairly well and could understand anything they said. When supper
time came, Gray Eagle came to Uncle Kit and said: "I have a great
feast for you; my men have killed a very fat dog; supper is ready,
come in and eat."
I remarked to Uncle Kit as we were going to supper, that I was
very glad we came home with Gray Eagle, for it had been a long
time since I had had a good meal of dog.
Supper being over, the chief got his pipe and selected six men
from his tribe and we had a peace-smoke, and he and Uncle Kit
smoked and talked nearly all night. During their conversation that
night he said that Mountain Phil was a very bad man, and that he
would often steal their horses and sell them to the Comanches.
Next morning after breakfast our horses were brought in, saddled
up and we were off on our journey again to Cache-la-Poudre.
It might be of interest to our readers to know how this stream
acquired its name. There was a Frenchman by the name of Virees
Roubidoux camped on the stream spoken of, with a little squad of
men; they were attacked by a band of Indians, and the first word
uttered by Roubidoux was "Cache-la-poudre," which means in
English, "hide the powder," and from that time on the stream has
been so called.
We arrived at our proposed trapping field, and after looking over
the country we found plenty of beaver sign along the streams and
game in abundance, and Uncle Kit decided that there was room
enough for four camps.
We returned by the way of Bent's Fort, as Uncle Kit wished to
employ the best men he could get to trap for him the coming
winter. On our way to the fort, which was four hundred miles from
the proposed trapping ground, Uncle Kit told me that he would have
to leave me in charge the coming winter, as he was going to the
City of Mexico on business, but said that he would come out and
get the camps established and return to Taos with the horses
before going there.
We found plenty of men at Bent's Fort, and, as usual, they were
all broke, having squandered the money earned the winter before
for whiskey and card playing. Uncle Kit experienced no trouble in
getting all the men he wanted, but had to furnish them with traps
and provisions--which took considerable money--he to have half of
the furs caught by each of them. Everything being understood we
returned to Taos, the men agreeing to meet us there two weeks
later. They were all on hand at the appointed time, but there
being a large party to outfit it took some weeks to make
preparations for the trip, there being eleven in the crowd. It was
about the last of October when we arrived at the trapping-ground
ready to begin work.
There was a man in the crowd named Charlie Jones, who was an old
friend of Johnnie West, and they and I lived in the same cabin
that winter. One morning after we had got fixed up comfortably in
our winter quarters and Uncle Kit had returned to Taos with the
horses, Charlie Jones waked us up very early, saying that there
was a light snow and he thought we would be able to get a bear if
we got out early. We rolled out, got breakfast and were off as
soon as it was light enough to see.
There were three small ridges, all pointing to our cabin; Johnnie
West took up the right-hand ridge, Charlie Jones the left and I
the middle one. The ridges were open, with scattering pine trees
here and there, but along the creek was heavy timber and a dense
growth of underbrush. While walking along up the ridge, keeping a
sharp lookout for bear, I came in sight of Johnnie West, who
beckoned me to cross over to where he was, saying that in the
thicket, which covered about an acre of ground, there was a small
bear. I proposed calling Charlie Jones over before entering the
thicket, but Johnnie said no, as it was such a small bear that
Charlie would get mad and would not speak to either of us for a
week if we should call him over for such a little bear, "and if we
cannot kill that bear," he continued, "we had better quit the
mountains."
We both cocked our guns and started into the brush side by side.
When near the center of the thicket I saw the bear raise on its
haunches. The snow was falling from the bushes so thickly that it
was almost impossible to get a bead on him, but I fired, anyway,
and hit too low, thus failing to bring him down.
He made a rush for us, but Johnnie had saved his charge in case I
failed to kill, but the snow was falling from the bushes so fast
and thick that he could not get a shot at the bear as he rushed
for us, so we were both compelled to flee for our lives, Johnnie
to the hillside, while I took down the canyon, jumping the small
logs and falling over the large ones and riding down the brush,
while I could almost feel the bear's breath on my posterior at
every jump, and had it not been that West had saved his charge,
you would now be reading some other book--certainly not this one,
as it would never have been written.
Just as we crossed a little opening, Johnnie fired, the ball
cutting Bear's jugular vein and also his windpipe, but the bear
still seemed to have a "hankering" after me and kept coming for
several yards.
After its windpipe was severed, the bear made a louder noise than
ever, but not knowing the cause, I thought he was nearer me and I
strained every nerve and fibre of my body to widen the distance
between us, as I almost imagined his teeth clashing down on me,
while Johnnie West was yelling: "Run, Willie; run for your life!"
Well I rather think I was running some about that time, for just
then I came to a big log, and I jumped, climbed and fell over it,
in fact, I never knew exactly how I did get over it; however, I
fell on one side of the log, utterly exhausted, and the bear, not
being able to get over, fell on the other side and died.
Of all the hunting and Indian fighting I have ever done, I never
had anything to scare me as did that little, insignificant bear.
Charlie Jones, hearing the two shots and Johnnie yelling for me to
run, came to the scene and had no little fun with me for running
from so small a bear, saying: "If a little bear like that were to
come at me, I would take it by the tail and beat its brains out
against a tree."
By the time the boys got the bear dressed, I had recovered
sufficiently from my run and excitement to help carry the meat to
the cabin, which was only a few rods away, as in our foot-race we
had been running in direction of the camp. The boys had a great
deal of sport at my expense, and many times during the winter I
was reminded of the bear hunt, in which the bear hunted me.
After we had got everything nicely fixed up in our new quarters,
Johnnie West one evening got down his sachel, took out a book and
sat and read till bed time. The following evening when he took the
book up again, I asked him what he was reading, and he said,
"Robinson Crusoe." I asked him why he did not read aloud so the
rest of us could hear, and he did read aloud until bed time. I
told him I would give anything if I could read as he did. So he
said if I would try to learn, he would teach me to read that
winter as good as he could. I assured him there would be nothing
lacking on my part, so the next night I took my first lesson. At
that time I did not know all the letters, but I was determined to
learn to read. In a very short time I had learned all my letters,
and being possessed of a great memory, I learned very fast, and
Johnnie, seeing I was so determined in the matter, spared no pains
in teaching me, and by the next spring I could read Robinson
Crusoe myself. Having a start, I could learn of my own accord, and
to Johnnie West I am greatly indebted for the limited education I
now possess; and were he now living I could not express to him my
gratitude for his labors as my tutor in that lonely wilderness,
hundreds of miles from any white man's habitation. And, although
my education is quite limited, yet what little I do possess has
been of great value to me through life.
We had good success trapping this winter, until about the first of
January, when we had an unusual heavy fall of snow in the
mountains which drove all the game to the lowlands, nothing being
left that was fit for meat except a few mountain sheep, and the
snow made it very inconvenient getting around to attend to the
traps. In the latter part of February I asked Charlie Jones one
day to go down to Mountain Phil's camp and see if there was
anything that he wanted, as we had kept all the extra supplies at
our camp. Mountain Phil and his Klooch--that being the name he
called his squaw, which is also the Arapahoe name for wife--were
staying alone about ten miles further down the country from where
we were located.
On Charlie Jones' return, he said: "It seems that Mountain Phil
has been faring better than any of us, for he has been able to
kill his meat at camp, thereby saving him the trouble of having to
get out and hunt for it."
Johnnie and I did not understand what he meant by this. So, after
hesitating a moment, Jones said: "Boys, if I should tell you what
I know about Mountain Phil, you would not believe it, but as sure
as you live he has killed his squaw and eaten most of her, and he
has left his camp."
We insisted that he must be mistaken, but he declared that he was
not, saying he had seen the bones in the cabin, and further
investigation had developed the fact that he had beyond any doubt
killed and eaten his Indian wife.
From that time on, Mountain Phil went by the name of the American
Cannibal until his death, which was--if my memory serves me
right--in 1863 or '64, at Virginia City, Mont.
After the snow had settled so that a person could travel on top of
it, I took my gun and stole out one day to see if I could not kill
a mountain sheep. As I clambered up the mountain I looked about
one hundred yards or so ahead of me on a cliff of rock, and saw a
panther, which I supposed was looking out for the same kind of
game that I was. I fired and killed her the first shot and started
to skin her, when I heard the kittens, or young panthers, crying
up in the rocks near where I had shot the old one. My first
thought then was what a nice pet I would have if I could only get
hold of those young panthers. I was afraid to crawl into the cave
for fear the other old panther might come in on me, so I cut a
forked stick and twisted in their fur and in that way managed to
pull them out, all the time keeping a sharp lookout for the other
old one. I took the two young panthers to the cabin and made pets
of them. They grew to be very watchful; nothing could move without
their knowing it. The female grew to be very tame, and a more
affectionate creature I never saw. But it was different with the
male. When he was six months old he got to be very cross, and I
had to keep him tied up. One day I went out to feed them and he
drew back and slapped me, and I shot him on the spot with my
pistol. The female I kept until she was considerably over a year
old, when I sold her for one hundred dollars to an Englishman
named Mace, and had I only known it, that panther was worth five
hundred dollars. I had taught her many tricks.
She could count ten, by putting her paw on the ground ten times,
and would do various other tricks, but when asked by any other
person than her master to perform, she would shake her head and
would not allow any one else to touch her. I always tied her up
when going out for a hunt, and when I would return she would cry
and scream so shrill that it would almost raise the hat on a man's
head until I would untie her. She never was contented until she
could get to lick my face, and I never saw a dog more watchful
than she.
It was in the month of April that Uncle Kit came in with a pack-
train for the furs, the snowfall having been so heavy that he
could not get in earlier. Our catch had been light, as we had more
snow that winter than has ever been known before or since in the
history of that country. Uncle Kit was, however, very well
satisfied with our work, with the exception of Mountain Phil, whom
he had furnished for the winter, and who had not caught a beaver.
We soon had our traps and furs together, loaded up and were on our
way to New Mexico.
The third day about noon we reached the Cache-la-Poudre, where we
again ran on to the American Cannibal. We stopped here to let our
horses feed and to partake of some refreshments ourselves. Uncle
Kit, after giving Mountain Phil a lecture for his past conduct,
said:
"Phil, if ever you and I are out together in the mountains and run
short of provisions, I will shoot you down as I would a wolf,
before you get hungry."
Phil asked him why he would do so, and Carson replied: "Because I
wouldn't take the chances of being killed and eaten up by a
cannibal like you."
It might be well to give a brief description of this cannibal. He
was a large, raw-boned man, who would weigh about two hundred and
fifty pounds, though he was not very fleshy. He always wore his
hair long and never combed it, also wore his beard long and never
sheared or combed that. His hair grew down on his forehead almost
to his eyes. In fact he looked more like an animal than a human
being.
Three days' travel brought us to South Platte, where we crossed
the river and made camp on a little stream called Sand Creek. It
was our custom to stake our saddle horses out at night as near
camp as good grass could be found. The following morning Johnnie
West and myself had been out after the pack animals, and on our
return when within about a quarter of a mile from camp, we heard a
rumbling noise that sounded like a band of buffalo in a stampede.
We looked off to our right and saw a large herd of horses, driven
by seven Ute Indians, who were pushing them at the greatest
possible speed. We urged our horses in the direction of camp as
fast as possible. As soon as we were in sight of camp, we gave the
alarm and every man sprang to his gun, mounted his horse and was
ready to receive them. The Indians did not see us until they had
run the herd of horses almost into our camp. Our saddle horses
being fresh, we succeeded in killing the seven Indians before they
got far away, and captured the herd of horses, which proved to be
a herd they had stolen from the Arapahoe Indians the night
before, and in less than an hour, Gray Eagle, the Arapahoe chief,
came along in pursuit, accompanied by fifty of his select
warriors. When Uncle Kit showed him the dead Utes, he walked up to
one of them, gave him a kick and said: "Lo-mis-mo-cay-o-te," which
means, "All the same as cayote."
Gray Eagle gave us each a horse, thanked us very kindly and
returned to his village with his animals.
We proceeded on our journey to Santa Fe, which took us twelve
days. Here we met our old friend, Joe Favor, who we had sold our
furs to the year before, and who bought them again this season.
Furs being still higher this year, notwithstanding our small
catch, Uncle Kit did fairly well out of his winter's trapping.
After settling up with Uncle Kit, Mr. Favor called me into the
store and presented me with a single-shot, silver-mounted pistol,
also a knife that weighed two and one-fourth pounds, that had been
manufactured in St. Louis. We stopped at Santa Fe and rested two
days, after which time Uncle Kit, Johnnie West, myself and my pet
panther returned home to Taos, which was a distance of ninety
miles from Santa Fe.