Among these Apaches, our companions, were two Comanches, who, fifteen
years before, had witnessed the death of the celebrated Overton. As
this wretch, for a short time, was employed as an English agent by the
Fur Company, his wild and romantic end will probably interest the many
readers who have known him; at all events, the narrative will serve as a
specimen of the lawless career of many who resort to the western
wilderness.
Some forty-four years ago, a Spanish trader had settled among a tribe of
the Tonquewas [The Tonquewas tribe sprung from the Comanches many years
ago.], at the foot of the Green Mountains. He had taken an Indian
squaw, and was living there very comfortably, paying no taxes, but
occasionally levying some, under the shape of black mail, upon the
settlements of the province of Santa Fe. In one excursion, however, he
was taken and hung, an event soon forgotten both by Spaniards and
Tonquewas. He had left behind him, besides a child and a squaw,
property to a respectable amount; the tribe took his wealth for their
own use, but cast away the widow and her offspring. She fell by chance
into the hands of a jolly though solitary Canadian trapper, who, not
having the means of selecting his spouse, took the squaw for better and
for worse.
In the meantime the young half-breed grew to manhood, and early
displayed a wonderful capacity for languages. The squaw died, and the
trapper, now thinking of the happy days he had passed among the
civilised people of the East, resolved to return thither, and took with
him the young half-breed, to whom by long habit he had become attached.
They both came to St. Louis, where the half-breed soon learned enough of
English to make himself understood, and one day, having gone with his
"father-in-law" to pay a visit to the Osages, he murdered him on the
way, took his horse, fusil, and sundries, and set up for himself.
For a long time he was unsuspected, and indeed, if he had been, he cared
very little about it. He went from tribe to tribe, living an indolent
life, which suited his taste perfectly; and as he was very necessary to
the Indians as an interpreter during their bartering transactions with
the Whites, he was allowed to do just as he pleased. He was, however,
fond of shifting from tribe to tribe, and the traders seeing him now
with the Pawnies or the Comanches, now with the Crows or the Tonquewas,
gave him the surname of "Turn-over," which name, making a summerset,
became Over-turn, and by corruption, Overton.
By this time every body had discovered that Overton was a great
scoundrel, but as he was useful, the English company from Canada
employed him, paying him very high wages. But his employers having
discovered that he was almost always tipsy, and not at all backward in
appropriating to himself that to which he had no right, dismissed him
from their service, and Overton returned to his former life. By-and-by,
some Yankees made him proposals, which he accepted; what was the nature
of them no one can exactly say, but every body may well fancy, knowing
that nothing is considered more praiseworthy than cheating the Indians
in their transactions with them, through the agency of some rascally
interpreter, who, of course, receives his _tantum quantum_ of the
profits of his treachery. For some time the employers and employed
agreed amazingly well, and as nothing is cheaper than military titles in
the United States, the half-breed became Colonel Overton, with boots and
spurs, a laced coat, and a long sword.
Cunning as were the Yankees, Overton was still more so; cheating them as
he had cheated the Indians. The holy alliance was broken up; he then
retired to the mountains, protected by the Mexican government, and
commenced a system of general depredation, which for some time proved
successful. His most ordinary method was to preside over a barter
betwixt the savages and the traders. When both parties had agreed, they
were of course in good humour, and drank freely. Now was the time for
the Colonel. To the Indians he would affirm that the traders only
waited till they were asleep, to butcher them and take back their goods.
The same story was told to the traders, and a fight ensued, the more
terrible as the whole party was more or less tipsy. Then, with some
rogues in his own employ, the Colonel, under the pretext of making all
safe, would load the mules with the furs and goods, proceed to Santa Fe,
and dispose of his booty for one-third of its value. None cared how it
had been obtained; it was cheap, consequently it was welcome.
His open robberies and tricks of this description were so numerous, that
Overton became the terror of the mountains. The savages swore they
would scalp him; the Canadians vowed that they would make him dance to
death; the English declared that they would hang him; and the Yankees,
they would put him to Indian torture. The Mexicans, not being able any
more to protect their favourite, put a price upon his head. Under these
circumstances, Overton took an aversion to society, concealed himself,
and during two years nothing was heard of him; when, one day, as a party
of Comanches and Tonquewas were returning from some expedition, they
perceived a man on horseback. They knew him to be Overton, and gave
chase immediately.
The chase was a long one. Overton was mounted upon a powerful and noble
steed, but the ground was broken and uneven; he could not get out of the
sight of his pursuers. However, he reached a platform covered with fine
pine trees, and thought himself safe, as on the other side of the wood
there was a long level valley, extending for many miles; and there he
would be able to distance his pursuers, and escape. Away he darted like
lightning, their horrible yell still ringing in his ears; he spurred his
horse, already covered with foam, entered the plain, and, to his horror
and amazement, found that between him and the valley there was a
horrible chasm, twenty-five feet in breadth and two hundred feet in
depth, with acute angles of rocks, as numerous as the thorns upon a
prickly pear. What could he do? His tired horse refused to take the
leap, and he could plainly hear the voices of the Indians encouraging
each other in the pursuit.
Along the edge of the precipice there lay a long hollow log, which had
been probably dragged there with the intention of making a bridge across
the chasm. Overton dismounted, led his horse to the very brink, and
pricked him with his knife: the noble animal leaped, but his strength
was too far gone for him to clear it; his breast struck the other edge,
and he fell from crag to crag into the abyss below. This over, the
fugitive crawled to the log, and concealed himself under it, hoping that
he would yet escape. He was mistaken, for he had been seen; at that
moment, the savages emerged from the wood, and a few minutes more
brought them around the log. Now certain of their prey, they wished to
make him suffer a long moral agony, and they feigned not to know where
he was.
"He has leaped over," said one; "it was the full jump of a panther.
Shall we return, or encamp here?"
The Indians agreed to repose for a short time; and then began a
conversation. One protested, if he could ever get Overton, he would
make him eat his own bowels. Another spoke of red-hot irons and of
creeping flesh. No torture was left unsaid, and horrible must have been
the position of the wretched Overton.
"His scalp is worth a hundred dollars," said one.
"We will get it some day," answered another. "But since we are here, we
had better camp and make a fire; there is a log."
Overton now perceived that he was lost. From under the log he cast a
glance around him: there stood the grim warriors, bow in hand, and ready
to kill him at his first movement. He understood that the savages had
been cruelly playing with him and enjoying his state of horrible
suspense. Though a scoundrel, Overton was brave, and had too much of
the red blood within him not to wish to disappoint his foes--he resolved
to allow himself to be burnt, and thus frustrate the anticipated
pleasure of his cruel persecutors. To die game to the last is an
Indian's glory, and under the most excruciating tortures, few savages
will ever give way to their bodily sufferings.
Leaves and dried sticks soon surrounded and covered the log--fire was
applied, and the barbarians watched in silence. But Overton had
reckoned too much upon his fortitude. His blood, after all, was but
half Indian, and when the flames caught his clothes he could bear no
more. He burst out from under the fire, and ran twice round within the
circle of his tormentors. They were still as the grave, not a weapon
was aimed at him, when, of a sudden, with all the energy of despair,
Overton sprang through the circle and took the fearful leap across the
chasm. Incredible as it may appear, he cleared it by more than two
feet: a cry of admiration burst from the savages; but Overton was
exhausted, and he fell slowly backwards. They crouched upon their
breasts to look down--for the depth was so awful as to giddy the brain--
and saw their victim, his clothes still in flames, rolling down from
rock to rock till all was darkness.
Had he kept his footing on the other side of the chasm, he would have
been safe, for a bold deed always commands admiration from the savage,
and at that time they would have scorned to use their arrows.
Such was the fate of Colonel Overton!