thirsty, and a vision of that five gallon keg of delicious cider began
to come into my head. Says I to myself, says I: ‘Job, wouldn’t you like
to have a little taste of that sweet beverage, ’specially when nobody
at the post would be either any wiser or any poorer for it?’ I reckoned
that I would. So I finished sewing up my buckskin, an’ started next
morning, bright an’ early, for the _cache_. Now, as I told yew all, it
was one day’s journey from my route, and it would take me another day
to put me on the right course again. That, you know, would use up two
days that I certainly ought to give to my sick comrades at the post.
But I argued this way to myself: ‘Now, I’m pesky thirsty fer a drink
of that sweet cider. I’m actually feelin’ bad fer th’ want uv it. If I
gratify my natural longing I’ll certainly feel better arter it, and I
can then tread out so much faster that I shall more’n make up for th’
lost time.’ And that’s the way that I reconciled it to my conscience.
“Wall, I reached the South Branch in th’ middle of the afternoon, and
going down the stream a little ways from where I struck it, I found the
cave where we had _cached_ our provisions. It was a pretty large one,
too. I crawled into the narrow mouth of it and drew my rifle in arter
me; and, as soon as my eyes got kinder used tew th’ dim light, right up
there in the corner I found everything all right. There was that jolly
little red keg of cider, and it seemed to actually laugh all over at
the sight of an old friend. And well it might, for it had been shut up
there in the dark for more’n six months with nothing but the flour, the
rice, and the dried meat to keep it company.
“I pulled out my sharp-pointed bowie knife and tapped the head of th’
cider barrel in no time. But just as I raised the little fellow to get
a taste of him I heard the tramping of horses’ feet outside, and the
howlin’ of twenty or thirty infernal Blackfeet. Gee Whillikins! I had
ter drop th’ keg before a bit of th’ amber liquid had wet my thirsty
lips. Well was it that I did so, for in that moment the entrance of
the place was darkened by a rascally Injun who had been fool enough to
follow me. Boys! I was plum skeered!
“What was I to do? I raised my rifle and fired at Mr. Redskin, who
dropped dead upon the ground, uttering a wild war-whoop as he fell.
His comrades crept into the mouth of the cave, seized him by the
feet, and gave a terrible yell when they found that he’d been wiped
out of existence. While they were tugging away at the old fellow I
busied myself in reloading my rifle in order to get ready for the next
visitor. Although th’ pesky redskins kept up a terrible hullabaloo they
didn’t attempt to crawl into the cave any more.
“Thinks I, ‘Now’s your time, old boy, if you ever hope to have any
refreshment.’ So, raising the little cask of cider, I took a good,
long, glorious drink. I tell you, boys, that was delicious, for my
throat was all parched and dry from alkali dust. It braced me right up
and I’d hardly had it down my throat when I felt that I was a host in
myself and could handle, single-handed, all of the Blackfeet west of
the Mississippi.
“Arter a few moments three or four rifles were cautiously poked into
the hole, and were fired at random into the cave toward me. I ducked
to one side, and let ’em peg away. They were only using up their
ammunition, an’ th’ sooner they got rid of that the better it was for
me.
“Next they sent a shower of arrows through the opening, but with no
better effect than with their bullets. In the meanwhile I had found a
little hole through the rocks just large enough for the barrel of my
gun, and, watching a good chance, when the varmints were thick about
the mouth, I took good aim and popped away at them. By the Jumping
Jingoes! boys, but I sent half an ounce of lead through the bodies
of no less than three of them at once. At this th’ Injuns fell back,
yelling vengeance, an’ I took another refreshing pull at th’ cider.
‘For,’ says I to myself, ‘Job, now it’s _your_ treat, and here’s to as
good luck the next shot.’ But th’ varmints didn’t try th’ shooting game
any more, as they found that this was a game which I could play as well
as they, themselves. Boys! I held all the trump cards! They kept losing
their hands, while I continued to hold my own.
“Arter they had been quiet fer a considerable time I poked my head out
of the cave and peeped down the stream, where I could see the cowardly
wolves gathering armsful of dry sticks and grass, which I at once knew
that they intended to bring up to the cavern and smoke me out. I hadn’t
thought of this before, and, thinks I, the rascals have got me now,
sure. I can fight Injuns so long as my ammunition holds out, but when
it comes to a fire and smoke I ain’t a match nohow for them fellers,
shut up as I be in these here limestone rocks.
“Presently th’ savages came back again to th’ mouth of th’ cave in such
a direction that I couldn’t bring old Kill-Deer to bear upon ’em, and
piling up their combustibles they set fire to ’em. The wind happened
to be blowing directly into th’ cave, and, in a few moments, a nasty
smudge began to suffocate me. I had to crawl farther and farther into
the place as the smoke followed me; and I could hear the Injuns pilin’
on the grass and wood all the time. They found that they couldn’t get
me out by any other means, and were now endeavorin’ to choke me to
death by their horrid smoke. Fortunately, as I shrank away from it, I
saw a little streak of daylight ahead of me. It was a crevice in the
rock through which the rays of the setting sun were streaming, as much
as to say: ‘Be of good heart, Job; they cannot smoke you out as long as
you choose to breathe through this nice little air hole.’
“I ran to the crevice, and laid down, breathing the pure air, and
laughing at the redskins, who were yelling and dancing for joy at
the cute trick they thought that they were playing upon me. Luck was
certainly with me, boys, for through the crevice that admitted the
light and the air I discovered a nice little stream trickling away,
while a tiny pool of fresh water had formed upon the floor of the
cavern. Now, thought I, if I only had the provisions with me, I could
last until the Injuns got tired and had to go away. So, holding my
breath, I crawled back again into the smoke, and catching hold of the
little keg of cider in one hand, and a package of jerked meat in the
other, I went back to my breathing-hole and had a comfortable supper.
The red fiends outside were screeching and yelling like mad men.
“Arter I had satisfied my hunger, and had taken another pull at the
delicious apple juice, I laid down for a nap, for I knew that the
Injuns wouldn’t trouble me while they kept up their smoke.
“Wall, boys, I tell you that I had a pretty good night’s rest,
considerin’ that I had tew keep one eye open. In the morning, after the
smoke had settled, I sat quietly at the side of the opening, expectin’
Mr. Injun to creep through arter my scalp. They thought that I had
given up the ghost, and were all ready to make a speedy end of me. But
they had reckoned without their host, for no sooner did a Blackfoot
show his head than pop! a little slug of lead from Mister Kill-Deer
made him remember that I was still breathing.
“Them Injuns, I reckon, thought that they had holed Old Nick himself,
for they was plum surprised when they heard the bark of my trusty old
rifle. When they saw another of their number fall, they even forgot
to yell. They found that smoke couldn’t kill the old man, and so they
tried another plan. Their game was to starve me out. But here, boys, I
held the trump cards again. The fact was, they hadn’t the least idea
that the cave had been used as a _cache_; and when they saw me take to
it they thought that I had discovered them and was hiding away from
them there. The old boys didn’t realize that I had a store of good
things piled up and ready for use.
“I could understand their gibberish well enough to learn that they had
determined to stand guard over me until I should be forced to yield to
starvation, at least. But I had fully two months’ provisions in the
cave and that would hold out for some time. I determined, therefore, to
pass the time as agreeably as possible.
“I could hear that parties of Injuns rode away from the place every
morning, and others came to take their place. They stood guard over me
by turns. At length, after four days, when they supposed that I was
about starved out to such a degree that I was no longer dangerous to
approach, a redskin poked his head into the opening and began to crawl
cautiously into the cave. I was waiting for the fellow.
“Boys! I made a spring like a panther. It was his life or mine, and my
long knife did the work. Presently another followed, and him I served
as I had the first one. Arter about a half an hour another Injun put
his head down into the hole and called to his comrades. At this moment,
I levelled my rifle at him and let him have it. That morning, my
friends, I had wiped out three more of my persecutors.
“They did not trouble me any for some days. I think it must have been
nigh onter a week, when, making sure that I was dead from starvation,
another attempt was made to enter the cavern. I kept at a distance
until two of them had come in, when I sprang upon them, and with old
Kill-Deer and my knife, made a finish of them also.
“Boys, th’ Injuns was now plum skeered. They were sure that they had
none but the Evil One to deal with. In fact I blackened my face and
looked out of the cave at one fellow who had ventured near. He gave
an awful cry and ran away, howling. About an hour afterwards, filling
the air with their yells of disappointed vengeance, the whole outfit
mounted their mustangs, and I could hear them riding away down the
banks of the river.
“’O-o-o-e-e! O-o-o-e-e!’ they wailed; and, boys, I sure did do some
tall chuckling.
“Arter a while I felt sure that the coast was clear of th’ red vermin.
So I ventured into th’ open air, and, mounting upon the top of a river
bank, I could see them spurring away across the prairie as if the Evil
Spirit were arter them. Boys! I had been pent up in that dark hole for
more than three weeks, as near as I could guess; so the strong light of
the sun nearly blinded me at first. Arter a while I got used to it. I
tell you what, boys! if this green earth and th’ blue skies ever looked
beautiful to my eyes, they did on that blessed morning when I crept
outen that living grave, for yer must remember that there wuz dead
Blackfeet all around me.”
“But, Uncle Job,” interrupted one of his hearers. “How did your sick
men at the post get along without the medicine?”
The old trapper looked sad.
“Poorly! Poorly!” said he. “Two of them had died before I returned.
They waited for ten days for me to come back, and, finding that I
didn’t, they sent another man to Fort Laramie for the medicine. The
others were saved.
“Arter an absence of about a month I reached the post again. As I
didn’t want to acknowledge that I had turned out of my way merely for
the sake of a taste of some excellent cider while my comrades were
suffering for the want of what I had been sent for, I said nothing
about it, beyond the fact that I had been a prisoner among the Injuns
and had managed to make my escape arter a hard fight.
“Some months arterwards, when a party of us were trappin’ out on th’
Medicine Bow Range, we concluded that we would make a visit to our
_cache_. We rode long and hard to reach there. Finally we came in sight
of the cave, and I recognized the place where I had had a desperate
battle for my life. We entered the cavern and found it just as I had
left it, with the exception that the dead Blackfeet warriors had been
removed. The sack of flour and bag of rice were just as the other party
had _cached_ them, and—not greatly to my surprise—the gallant little
cask of cider had disappeared. The dried venison had also vanished.”
The old trapper smiled benignly upon his listeners. “The fact is,
boys,” said he, “although I had a pretty onlikely time of it with
them cussed Blackfeet I felt so awful ashamed of th’ hull affair that
I didn’t let on a single word about it. Th’ truth is, I wuz plum
angry with myself fer gettin’ caught in that ar cave simply because I
hankered after some sparkling cider.”
At this all the boys burst into loud laughter, and the old trapper
retired to the fire in order to broil some antelope steaks for supper.
“Fellers, he’s the real thing,” said one. “Too bad that those good days
aren’t with us now, for then, we, too, might have some adventures of
our own.”
But the old times of roving Blackfeet, and desperate battles for life
and for liberty, had long passed away.
HENRY SHANE:
HEROIC SCOUT OF THE PLAINS OF TEXAS
ONE day a young fellow was hunting deer near Pinto Creek, twelve miles
from Fort Clark in Texas. His name was Henry Shane, and, although
a German by birth, he had early emigrated to the Lone Star State,
where he had joined the United States army and had fought in the more
important battles of the Mexican War. Deer were plentiful, and it was
not long before he had killed a fat buck. Laying his gun down upon the
ground, the youthful hunter took out his long knife and prepared to
skin the game.
Suddenly the sharp crack of a twig made him look up. He shrank back
with a cry, for before him were six large and gaudily painted redskins.
One had seized his rifle, another pointed a gun at his breast. It was
useless to run.
“How! How! I surrender!” said the young Texan. “You no hurt me.”
“Ugh! Ugh!” grunted one of the foremost red men—evidently a chief. “We
want you, paleface.”
The Indians now seized the unfortunate ranchman, tied his arms
behind his back, and—after whipping him severely with a pair of
rope-hobbles, which they used to confine their ponies—rode off with
him.
“Oh, my,” thought poor Henry Shane, “they’ll fix me now, sure. I’m
afraid that it’s all up with me!”
The redskins moved off quickly towards the northwest, and had not gone
very far before they were joined by nine more Indians, making fifteen
in all. They travelled all that day and part of the night. Then they
stopped to rest and eat. Here they again rained blows upon the back of
poor Henry, but for what reason he was at a loss to know, as he had
done nothing to warrant such treatment. For dinner they presented him
with a small piece of burned deer meat with the hair still on it. The
prisoner made a pretty poor meal of such provender.
The braves took a good rest, and did not break camp until dawn. Then
they bundled up their goods and were off. They travelled rapidly until
about nine o’clock in the morning, when they again made a halt near a
crystal spring. They had hurried along, for they feared pursuit, and in
this they were quite right, for some Mexican herders had heard Shane’s
gun when he killed the deer. As he did not return, later, they went in
search of him, finding the slain deer and a fresh Indian trail. “He
is either killed or captured,” they thought. “Probably the latter, as
we cannot find his body.” News was at once carried to the fort, and a
squad of soldiers was ordered to follow the Indians. They were guided
by an excellent Mexican called “Old Roka,” who had lived with the
savages for many years and knew their methods of fighting.
The Indians were camped near a cedar-brake, and the blue-coats rode
up, just as they had finished breakfast. “Old Roka” led the soldiers
into their very midst, before they knew it. Even young Henry Shane did
not suspect the presence of the troops until they were right among the
redskins. The latter picked up their own rifles and other arms. For a
few moments they had a lively fight with the blue-coats. Bullets and
arrows were flying thick and fast, when young Henry decided to skip
into the neighboring cane-brake. He knew that it was a custom of the
Indians to kill their captives, when they were attacked, so he decided
to get away before they could harm him.
As Henry dashed away, an Indian fired an arrow after him, which went
through his arm and remained fixed there. This did not stop the young
pioneer. He raced onward, and breaking off the handle of the arrow,
pulled it out,—then stopped and listened. The fight was still going
on, the Indians were yelling and the carbines in the hands of the
soldiers still continued to pop. Some of the Indians seemed to be
endeavoring to make their escape into the cane-brake, so the terrified
Henry continued his flight, determined to make his way back to the
fort, without waiting for the soldiers.
As young Shane made off, he saw four redskins fall before the bullets
of the troops. He pressed forward and came to a wide creek which it
was impossible to cross. He followed it all day and, when night came,
climbed into a tree to spend the evening. A mountain lion began to
screech and call near by and this kept him awake for some time. Finally
he fell into deep slumber.
When daylight came, the fleeing pioneer dropped down from his perch
and continued towards the fort. This he eventually reached. He had
been forty-eight hours without food, except for the little piece of
burnt meat which the savages had given him. He was very weak, and
was welcomed like a long lost brother. The soldiers had completely
annihilated the redskins, and, after the fight, had looked everywhere
for the young pioneer. As they could not find him they had given him
up for lost and had returned to the fort. When they saw the lost
frontiersman, they gave three long cheers for the “young cuss who got
away. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”
Not long after this exciting affair Henry Shane settled upon a broad
creek, called Chicon Creek, which ran near the Anna Catchi Mountains.
A few settlers were near him and the Indians were quite numerous. They
were also very hostile to the whites, and the young pioneer soon had a
very serious affair with them.
One day he was riding by the San Miguel ranch, which was an old-time
Mexican ranch with a rock wall around it and an entrance through a
gate. When he arrived at this place he could see no one stirring. The
gate was open, so he dismounted and went in. He saw no signs of life. A
little dog barked at him,—that was all.
Upon a smooth piece of sheet-iron, which lay near two rocks, were
several cakes of bread. They had been turned and were burned upon the
under side. As the fire still gleamed beneath them, the pioneer was
sure that something was wrong. He could see no one,—so continued upon
his way.
His horse trotted slowly along, and Henry soon crossed a creek where he
found a dead Mexican. It was evident that the “Greaser” had been killed
by Indians, for his body was full of arrows, and near by was his horse,
lying motionless upon the ground. The Mexican had been endeavoring to
get to the ranch when the Indians caught up with him. They first killed
his horse and then killed him.
Shane rode onward. As he came upon the top of a ridge he saw a broncho
tied some distance off. He knew enough about Indians to keep well away
from the animal. So—riding around him—he continued upon his journey.
He soon saw the wisdom of his move, for as he rode onward he beheld an
Indian crouching near his pony. Soon five others came into view and
started after him at a hard gallop.
The plainsman pushed rapidly along and came to a ranch where there was
a crowd of excited Mexicans, some of whom were from the place where the
dead Mexican had been employed. The murdered vaquero, they said, had
been away from the ranch when it was attacked. The Indians had headed
him off and had killed him, after he had made a run to get inside the
walls of the adobe house.
“We outnumber the infernal redskins,” cried Henry. “Come on, boys,
let’s go back and clean ’em up!”
“We’re with you!” cried the others, and, quickly mounting their
mustangs, they were soon started towards the place where the Indians
had last been seen. As they rode over a small hillock, the murderous
redskins could be sighted far below on the plain. They were intent upon
setting fire to the ranch buildings and did not notice the approach of
Shane and his companions.
“Spread out, boys!” cried the now excited plainsman. “Spread out and
try to surround the red devils!”
The Mexicans and Texan vaqueros followed his lead, and, circling about
the red men, soon closed in upon them from three sides. Rifles began to
ring out, and, with a wild yelping, the Indians started to retreat. As
they did so, Henry Shane waved his sombrero in the air, and all raced
after the red men, on the dead gallop.
Now was a beautiful running fight. The Indians could not aim at all
well, from the backs of their ponies. Their bullets went very wide.
The whites, on the other hand, shot two of the Indian mustangs; and,
although their owners fell to the ground, both swung themselves to the
backs of other ponies and safely rode off, hanging to the waists of
the riders. Finally they all got away in a deep canyon, and ambuscaded
themselves so well behind rocks and boulders that the plainsmen decided
to withdraw. The Indians had not hit a single white man.
Soon after this event Henry Shane purchased some sheep and took them up
on the Foris River to graze. He lived in a tent, with one companion.
They pitched their canvas behind a brush fence.
One night Henry was sitting with his back to this fence, boiling some
coffee, with no thought that any redskins were within twenty miles of
him. But at this very moment several were prowling around his camp and
had noticed the position which he was in. One of them—bolder than the
rest—slipped up to the opposite side of the fence with the intention
of poking his gun through the brush and shooting the pioneer in the
back. As he shoved the muzzle of his gun through the dry twigs, he made
so much noise that the plainsman heard him. Turning to his Mexican
herder, Felipe Flores, he cried out:
“Felipe! What is that noise?”
“It is a rat,” replied Felipe. “I saw one running through the brush.”
As he ceased speaking the Indian attempted to shoot, but his gun
snapped and hung fire. The frontiersman heard the noise and jumped to
his feet. When he did so, the gun went off, as the Indian attempted to
jerk it back through the brush, and the ball passed through Shane’s
hat. The Indian ran away, before the startled sheepman could seize a
rifle and shoot in return.
The frontiersman had certainly had a narrow escape, and he determined
in future to be more careful. Next morning he rode to a neighboring
ranch and discovered that the Indians had been there and had carried
off twenty-five horses. The ranchers were anxious to get back their
stock, so a force was immediately raised to pursue the thieving
redskins. They rode out—thirteen in all—and soon overtook the Indians
upon the west branch of the river Neuces. The redskins were in camp,
but saw the white men as they came up a mountain, and moved off in a
great hurry. With a wild shout, the plainsmen, vaqueros, and Mexicans
started to gallop after the red men, who crowded through a gap in the
mountains and ran away, carrying the captured horses with them. But
their pursuers gained rapidly, and pressed the Indians so close that
they dropped seven head of the Adams horses. These were quickly seized
by the whites, who followed up the fleeing redskins until their own
mounts were exhausted.
“Reckon we’ll have to give up,” said Henry Shane. “Boys, there’s some
good beef stewing at the Indian camp. Let’s go back and get some!”
All turned towards the deserted Indian encampment, and, when they
arrived there, found some shields and head-dresses which the Indians
had left in their flight. They then camped for the night.
Next morning Henry Shane was anxious to get back home, as the scout
was practically over. Saddling up his broncho, he started out over the
plain accompanied by a Mexican named Leal, who was the “boss” of a
neighboring ranch. They travelled on together for about two miles, when
suddenly and very unexpectedly they met a band of Indians in the road
driving a bunch of horses before them. When these saw the two ranchmen
they turned their bronchos away from the road, and kept on, without
molesting the whites.
“Well,” said Shane to his companion, “we should go back and tell the
other men that here is a chance to fight Indians.”
“No,” answered Leal. “I’m going home. But you can do as you wish.”
Shane bade the “boss” good-by and started for the place which he had
just left. The plainsmen were still in camp at the bluff, but they had
their horses saddled and were preparing to mount just as the excited
Henry rode up.
“Boys!” he cried, “I’ve just met a band of Indians with some stolen
horses. You come along with me and we’ll get these fellows, sure.”
“Lead on!” cried his men. “Lead on!”
They were anxious for a fight.
The ranchers were soon galloping forward, and it was not long before
they had overtaken the Indians, who quickly started off, waving their
blankets at the captured horses in order to stampede them. Firing
commenced, and Shane had a piece shot from the horn of his saddle.
Two of the Indians were killed, but their horses carried them into
the brush. Finally the redskins made a stand upon the top of a round
mountain, but as soon as the whites charged them they ran. They left
three saddled pintos behind them.