INDIANS AND GAMBLERS
Shortly after noon the wind died down enough to let the packet resume
her upstream labors, and expectations ran high that she would make a
long, peaceful run. They were not to be realized.
The first unpleasant incident occurred when the boat had been run
against a bank at a woodpile to replenish her fuel. The lines were made
fast and the first of the wood-carriers had reached the stacked cordwood
when from behind it arose a dozen renegade Indians, willing to turn
momentarily from their horse-stealing expedition long enough to levy a
tribute of firewater on the boat. They refused to allow a stick to be
removed without either a fight or a supply of liquor and trade goods,
and the leader of the band grappled with the foremost member of the crew
and tried to drag him behind the shelter of the pile and so gain a
hostage to give additional weight to their demands and to save them from
being fired on.
Goaded by despair and fright from the unexpectedness of the attack and
what might be in store for him the white man struggled desperately and,
with the return of a measure of calmness, worked a neat cross-buttock on
his red adversary and threw him sprawling out in plain sight of the
boat. Half a dozen plainsmen on board had leaped for their rifles and
shouted the alarm; a four pound carronade was wheeled swiftly into
position and a charge of canister sent crashing over the woodpile into
the brush and trees. The roar of the gun and the racket caused by the
charge as it rattled through the branches and brush filled the savages
with dismay and, not daring to run from the pile and up the bank under
the cannon and the rapidly augmented rifles on the decks of the boat,
they raised their hands and slowly emerged from their worthless
breastwork.
Captain Newell shouted frantic instructions to his grim and accurate
volunteers, ordering and begging in one breath for them not to fire, for
he knew that bloodshed would start a remorseless sniping warfare along
the river that might last for several seasons. At such a game the
snipers on the banks, concealed as they would be, could reasonably be
expected to run up quite a list of casualties on the boat. This was no
new experience for him and he knew that nothing serious would grow out
of it as long as none of the Indians were injured. This little party was
composed of the renegade scourings of the frontier tribes which had been
debauched by their contact with the liquor-selling whites and they were
more fitted for petty thievery than the role of warriors. He shouted and
argued and cursed and pleaded with the eager riflemen, most of whom
burned with the remembrance of stolen packs of furs and equipment at the
hands of such Indians as these.
The growling plainsmen, knowing that he was right and understanding his
position, reluctantly kept their trigger fingers extended and finally
lowered their pieces, hoping that the Indians would lose their heads and
do some overt act; but the Indians were not fools, whatever else they
might have been. With eager alertness on one side and sullen
acquiescence on the other the wooding was finished, ropes cast off and
the _Missouri Belle_ pushed quickly out into the stream, her grim faced
defenders manning the stern decks and praying for an excuse to open
fire.
No sooner had a reasonable distance been opened between the boat and the
bank than the Indians, at a signal from their leader, leaped behind the
woodpile and opened fire on the boat with muskets and bows and arrows,
the latter weapons far more accurate than the miserable trade guns which
a few of the braves carried. With them dropping an arrow is an instinct
and they have developed it to a degree that is remarkable, to say the
least; while with the smooth-bore trade guns, with varying charges of
trade powder and sizes of balls, they were poor shots at any distance.
Instantly two score rifles replied from the boat, pouring their leaden
hail into the stacked wood, but without any noticeable result; and
before a second round could be fired the distance had been increased to
such an extent that only one or two excitable tenderfeet tried a second
shot. The chief result of the incident was the breaking of the monotony
of the trip and the starting of chains of reminiscences among the
hunters and trappers to which the tenderfeet listened with eager ears.
After this flurry of excitement interest slowly swung far astern, where
the American Fur Company's boat was supposed to be breasting the current
on her long voyage to Fort Union and beyond, and many eyes were on the
lookout for a glimpse of her smoke. A sight of the boat itself, except
at close range, was almost hopeless because the bends in the river were
so numerous and close together that the stream seemed like a narrow
lake.
The surface of the water was becoming different from what it had been,
for the great masses of floating debris had thinned and no longer came
down in raft-like formations. This was due to the rapid falling of the
water, which had stranded more and more of the bulkier drift and piled
it up at the head of every island, emerging bar and jutting point. At
the height of the freshets, especially the April rise, often the logs
and trees came down so thick and solid that they resembled floating
islands. This was in large measure due to the simultaneous floating of
the vast accumulations piled up all along the banks, and it aroused
disgust and anxiety in the hearts of the boatmen, who feared for hulls
and paddle wheels.
The harmless brush with the Indians and the stories the affair had
started quickened interest in firearms, and during the rest of the
afternoon there was considerable target practice against the ducks,
geese, and debris, and an occasional long shot at some animal on the
distant bank.
Tom Boyd did his share of this, glad of the opportunity to try out his
new and strange weapons, and to put off meeting Patience Cooper as long
as he could, fearing her attitude concerning his fight with Schoolcraft.
He found that the newly marketed Colt six-shooter was accurate and
powerful at all reasonable ranges, beautifully balanced and well
behaving. It attracted a great deal of attention from fellow travelers,
for it was not as well-known in Missouri as it was in other parts of the
country. The English rifle, not much heavier than the great Hawken
weapons of his companions, despite its two barrels, shot true and
strong, and the two ready shots at his command easily recompensed him
for the additional weight. At this time, in the country into which he
was going, an instantly available second shot had an importance not to
be overlooked. To the Indians, especially, was it disconcerting, and its
moral effect partook of the nature of magic and made a white man's
"medicine" that demanded and received a wholesome respect. He found that
it followed the rough and ready rule of the frontier that up to a
hundred yards the proper charge was as much powder as would cover the
bullet in the palm of the hand. In the long range shots the weapon was
surprisingly accurate, and one thoughtful and intelligent hunter, who
had guided several English sporting parties, gave the credit to the
pointed bullets.
"Thar ain't no doubt about it, pardner," he confided to Tom as he slyly
produced his own bullet mold, and showed it to his companion. "I've
tried 'em out in my own rifle, an' they shore do shoot straighter an'
further. This hyar mold war give ter me by a city hunter I had in my
party when we found it would fit my rifle. I ain't usin' th' old un no
more. Rub a leetle b'ar grease or buffaler tallow on th' patch paper,
young man, ter make 'em go down easier. Thar good beaver."
The sun set in a gold and crimson glory, working its magic metamorphosis
on river, banks, and bottoms, painting the colored cliffs and setting
afire the crystals in which their clay was rich. Though usually the
scenery along this river at this time of the year was nothing to boast
of, there were certain conditions under which it resembled a fairyland.
The rolling wavelets bore their changing colors across the glowing water
and set dancing myriad flashes of sunlight; streaks of sunlight reached
in under the trees along the bank and made fairy paths among the
trunks, while the imbedded crystals in the clay bluffs glittered in
thousands of pin-points of iridescent flame.
When supper time came around Tom still felt a little reluctant to meet
Patience, worried by how she might greet him, although her actions
preceding the fight should have told him that his fears were groundless.
To his great relief she met him as graciously as she had before, and as
a matter of fact he thought he detected a little more warmth and
interest, but discounted this because he feared that his judgment might
be biased in his favor by his hopes.
Uncle Joe apparently had forgotten all about the affair and did not
refer to it in any way, confining himself to subjects connected with the
great southwest highway, its trade, outfitting, the organization of the
caravans, the merchandising at Santa Fe and bits of historical and
personal incidents, not forgetting to comment on the personality of
Armijo and his arbitrary impost of five hundred dollars on each wagon to
cross the boundary, regardless of what its contents might be. He
chuckled over the impost, for the goods which he had sent up to
Independence by an earlier boat had been selected with that tax in mind.
He had his own ideas about the payment of the impost, and although he
could not entirely avoid it, he intended to take a great deal of the
sting out of it.
He contended that the beating of unlawful duties was not cheating, since
it was purely a game of one individual outwitting another, one being an
arbitrary tyrant who was strongly suspected of pocketing the wagon tax
for his own uses. The only trouble with his philosophy was what it set
going, for having proved one evasion of tax to be honest it tended to go
farther and justify other evasions which fairly crossed the ethical
boundaries. One of these was the rumored prohibition of Mackinaw
blankets and the export tax on specie. This last would be something of a
hardship, for coin was the best and most easily carried of all mediums
of payment, and the Mexican government, in levying this tax, would tend
to force the traders to barter rather than sell their goods. If payment
were had in specie, the wagons could be disposed of at a fair profit and
mules used to pack it back to Missouri. When sewed tightly in rawhide
bags it became an unshifting mass by the shrinking of the leather under
the rays of the sun. Some of the traders took mules in exchange for
their goods which, if they could be safely delivered in the Missouri
settlements, would give an additional profit of no mean per centum; but
losses in mules were necessarily suffered on the long return trip, and
the driving, corralling, and guarding of a herd was a task to try the
patience of a saint and the ingenuity of the devil. The Indians would
take almost any kind of chances to stampede a herd of mules, and they
were adepts at the game.
Uncle Joe had been over the trail, having gone out with that band of
Missourians who took the first wagons across from Franklin in 1824, and
he had kept in close touch with the New Mexican and Chihuahuan trade
ever since. He knew the tricks, and had invented some of his own, which
he guarded well. For the despotic Armijo he had a vast contempt, which
was universal among the great majority of the men who knew anything at
all about the cruel, conceited, and dishonest Governor of the
Department of New Mexico. The unfortunate Texan Santa Fe Expedition had
aroused bitter feelings among Americans and Texans against the Mexican,
many of them having had friends and relatives in that terrible winter
march of two thousand miles on foot from Santa Fe to the City of Mexico,
which followed so close upon the heart-breaking and disastrous northward
march from Texas to a vile betrayal and barbarous treatment. Anything
American or Texas plainsmen could do to hurt or discredit the inhuman
pomposity whose rise to power had been through black treachery and
coldly planned murder, would be done with enthusiastic zeal.
At the close of the leisurely eaten meal they went on deck in time to
see the _John Auld_ round the next upstream bend and forge forward, soon
stopping, however, to drift past the slowed _Missouri Belle_ while their
pilots exchanged terse information about the channels and snags. The
_John Auld_ carried a small cargo of fur packs on her main deck and a
few free hunters and trappers on their way to St. Louis to dispose of
their goods and to outfit anew. By this time the fur of the pelts
slipped and the fur taking season was over, but there was always the
buffalo to lure them afield again.
The evening was delightful and hopes ran high for an uninterrupted
voyage. Uncle Joe expressed the belief that the boat would run all night
in view of the favorable weather; Tom demurring on the grounds of the
rapidly falling river and the blackness of the nights. The boat curved
sharply to avoid a jutting bar and straightened out again. Prompted by
sight of some of the passengers who promenaded past them the talk swung
to the fur trade in general and to the end of it, which was rapidly
being brought nearer by the great tide of emigration setting in.
Discussions regarding the emigrants and the great Oregon Trail followed
as a matter of course and almost before they knew it it was time for
Patience to retire, and her companions soon followed her example, Uncle
Joe foregoing his usual night game.
When morning broke they found that they had sailed nearly all the night,
and the boat kept on all day, stopping only at a few landings and to
take on wood, of which she burned an amazing quantity. Another night's
run brought them well up the river, but the following day found them
tied to a bank, because of adverse weather. In the afternoon, the wind
dying out, they were on the way again and another night's sail was
looked for. Patience retired earlier than usual and when Tom returned
from seeing her safely into her room he found Uncle Joe impatiently
waiting for him.
"Come on, Tom," said the merchant. "I've still got a lot to learn about
gamblin' an' there ain't much time left to do it in. Let's go back an'
see if there's a game runnin'. I might as well let somebody else pay th'
expenses of this trip."
Tom nodded and followed his companion into the cabin set apart for men
and sat down at a table with two trappers, from where he could watch the
game at close range, for he realized that the time for the gamblers to
get the merchant's money also was getting short. Under the conditions
almost anything might occur and he felt that he owed a debt to his
friend for the part he had played during the fight with Schoolcraft.
Uncle Joe joined Stevens and a companion, who were idly playing and who
seemed to be impatiently and nervously waiting for his appearance; soon
a tense game was in progress. At a table in a corner from where the
players could be closely watched Ephriam Schoolcraft, his face still
badly bruised, was talking in sullen undertones to the little Mexican
and another companion, while hunters, traders, trappers, and men of
various other callings kept up a low hum of conversation throughout the
cabin.
From one group came fragments of fur trade gossip: "Th' American Fur
Company's talkin' about abandonin' Fort Van Buren. Thar's been a lot o'
posts let go to grass th' last two years. Th' business ain't what it was
ten year ago."
"On th' other hand," replied a companion, "Fox an' Livingston air goin'
fer to put up a post at th' mouth o' th' Little Bighorn, which evens up
fer Van Buren; an' Chardon's aimin' fer to put one up at th' mouth o'
th' Judith. Th' trade's all right, only th' American's got more buckin'
agin' it."
"'Tain't what it onct was, though," said a third trader. "Thar's too
many posts an' private parties. Ye can't go nowhere hardly in th' Injun
country without comin' slap up ag'in a post o' some kind. Thar's Zack:
hey, Zack! Come over hyar!"
Zack, a mountain hunter and a free one, swung over and joined the group.
"Jest been palaverin' with some Canucks," he said. "Fur's I could git
th' hang o' thar parley-vouz thar goin' up ter help open Fort William,
at th' mouth o' th' Yallerstun, fer Fox an' Livingston. They sez Pratte
an' Cabanne had took over Fort Platte, up nigh th' Laramie. How fur ye
goin' on this packet, Smith?"
"Bellevue," answered Smith. "I'm headin' up th' Platte a-ways, if th'
danged Pawnees let me git past. Pardner's waitin' near th' mouth with a
bullboat. Reckon we kin count on enough water, this time o' year, fer
ter float _that_; 'though I shore ain't bettin' on it," he chuckled.
Zack laughed. "Th' Platte shore comes close ter bein' all shadder an' no
substance. Dangest stream _I_ ever seen, an' I've seen a-plenty."
"Don't think a hull lot o' that country, nohow," said a third. "Them
Pawnees air th' worst thieves an' murderers this side o' th' Comanchees.
They kin steal yer shirt without techin' yer coat, danged if they can't.
Blast 'em, I _know_ 'em!"
Zack laughed shortly. "They ain't no-whar with th' Crows when it comes
ter stealin'," he averred.
Smith chuckled again. "Yer right, Zack. He's pizen set ag'in 'em ever
sence they stole his packs an' everythin' that wasn't a-hangin' ter him.
'Twarn't much o' a walk he had, though, only a couple hundred miles."
"Ye kin bet I'm pizen ag'in 'em sence then," retorted the Pawnee-hater
vehemently. "If I tuk scalps I could show ye somethin'. They've paid a
lot fer what they stole that time."
From another group came the mention of a name which took Tom's instant
attention.
"I hears Ol' Jim Bridger's quit tradin' in furs as a reg'lar thing,"
said the voice. "They say he's gone in fer tinkerin' an' outfittin' up
nigh Teton Pass. Got a fust rate post too, they say."
"Tinkerin' what?" demanded a listener. "What kin he outfit 'way up
thar?"
"Emigrants!" snorted the first speaker. "Figgers on sellin' 'em supplies
an' sich, an' repairin' fer 'em at his smithy. I shore reckon they'll
need him a hull lot more'n he'll need them. That's a long haul fer
wagons, tenderfeet's 'spacially--Independence ter th' Divide--'though it
ain't what it was when Hunt an' Crooks went out thirty year ago."
"No, 'tain't," replied a third man. "An' it's a lucky thing fer th'
tenderfeet that Nat Wyeth went an' built Fort Hall whar he did, even if
'twas fer th' Hudson Bay. I'm tellin' ye these hyar emigrants would be
stayin' ter home from Oregon an' Californy if 'twarn't fer what us
trappers has did fer th' country. Thar ain't nary a trail that we didn't
locate fer 'em."
The first man nodded. "Not mentionin' th' Injuns afore us, we found thar
roads, passes, an' drinkin' water fer 'em; an' now thar flockin' in ter
spile our business. One thing, though, thar goin' straight acrost, most
on 'em. It could be a hull lot worse."
While Tom's ears caught bits of the conversation roundabout his eyes
paid attention to the gambling table and on two occasions he half arose
from his chair to object profanely to the way Stevens played; but each
time he was not quite sure. On the third occasion one of the trappers
glanced at him, smiled grimly, and nodded at the hard-pressed gambler.
"Th' fur trade ain't th' only skin game, young feller," he softly said.
"Ol' man a friend o' yourn?"
Tom nodded and watched more closely, and a moment later he stiffened
again.
"Why, h--l!" growled the trapper, sympathizing with one of his own
calling. "Go fur him, young feller, an' chuck him inter th' river! I'll
hold off his pardner fer ye!"
An older trapper sauntered over and seated himself at Tom's side. "Been
watchin' them fer quite a spell," he said in a low voice. "Ain't that
ol' feller St Louis Joe?"
Tom shrugged his shoulders, and saw a great light. Who hadn't heard of
St. Louis Joe? His new friend's love of gambling, and his success
against Stevens and his crowd would be accounted for if the trapper was
right. He glanced at the speaker and replied: "Don't know. I never saw
him till I crossed th' levee at St. Louis jest afore we sailed."
"Looks a heap like him, anyhow," muttered the newcomer. "Fair an' squar,
_he_ war. I seen him play when I war goin' down to N'Orleans, ten year
ago. Never fergit a face, an' I shore remember _his_, fer he war playin'
that time fer 'most all th' money in th' Mississippi Valley, I reckon.
Consarn it, I _know_ it's him! Fer ol' times' sake, if he gits inter
trouble with that skunk, I'm with him ter th' hilt." He started to leave
the table, thought better of it and slid forward to the edge of his
chair. "He's bein' cheated blind. I saw that skunk palm a card!"
Tom nodded, his hand resting on his belt, but he did not take his eyes
from the game. He suspected that Uncle Joe was pretty well informed
about what was going on and would object when it suited him.
The first trapper leaned over the table and whispered to his friend.
"This young feller is watchin' the cheat, an' I'm watchin' th' pardner.
You might keep an eye on that Independence hoss-thief over thar--that
feller with th' raw meat face, that _this_ youngster gave him. From th'
way he's lookin' thar ain't no tellin' how this hyar party is goin' ter
bust up."
The second plainsman nodded and after a moment dropped his pipe on the
floor. He shifted in his chair as he reached down for it and when he sat
up again he was in a little different position, and not a thing at
Schoolcraft's table escaped his eyes.
"I'll take th' greaser 'longside him," muttered the third plainsman.
"W'ich is a plain duty an' a pleasure. Bet ye a plew I nail him atween
his eyes, fust crack, if he gits hostile."
Suddenly there came a loud smack as Uncle Joe's left hand smashed down
on the cards in Stevens' hand, holding them against the table while his
right hand flashed under the partly buttoned edge of his long frock
coat. It hung there, struggling with something in the inside pocket.
Stevens had jerked his own hand loose, relinquishing the cards, and with
the sharp motion a small, compact percussion pistol slid out of his
sleeve and into his grasp as his hand stopped. He was continuing the
motion, swinging the weapon up and forward when Tom, leaning suddenly
forward in his chair, sent his heavy skinning knife flashing through the
air. The first trapper had thrown a pistol down on the gambler's
partner, the second stopped Ephriam Schoolcraft's attempted draw against
Tom, and the third plainsman was peering eagerly along the barrel of his
pistol at a spot between the Mexican's eyes. Had it been a well
rehearsed act things could not have happened quicker or smoother.
Not five other persons in the cabin had any intimation of what was
coming until Tom's knife, flying butt first through the air, knocked
the pistol from Stevens' hand. The weapon struck the floor and exploded,
the bullet passing through a cabin window. As the knife left his hand
the thrower had leaped after it and he grabbed the desperate gambler in
a grip against which it was useless to struggle. Uncle Joe, loosening
his hold on the pocket pistol tangled in the lining of his coat, leaped
around the table and quickly passed his hands over the clothing of the
prisoner.
"What's th' trouble here?" demanded the quick, authoritative voice of
the captain as he ran in from the deck. "Who fired that shot, an' why?"
He soon was made familiar with the whole affair and stepped to the
table, picked up the cards and spread them for everyone to see. Asking a
few questions of disinterested eye-witnesses, he looked about the cabin
and spoke.
"I've nothing to say about gambling on this boat as long as gentlemen
play," he said sharply. "When the play is crooked, _I_ take a hand. I
can't overlook this." He motioned to the group of boat hands crowding
about the door and they took hold of Stevens and his partner. "Take
these men and get their effects, and then put them ashore in the yawl.
I'll have provisions put aboard while you're gone. Stevens, due south
not many miles is the St. Louis-Independence wagon road. It is heavily
traveled this time of the year. You can't miss it. Besides that there
are numerous cabins scattered about the bottoms, and not far upstream is
a settlement. Take 'em away." Glancing over the cabin again and letting
his eyes rest for a moment on Ephriam Schoolcraft, he wheeled and
started for the door, but paused as he reached it. "If there's any
further trouble I'll be on the hurricane deck, for'rd. We're going to
run all night if we can. I don't want any more disturbance on this
packet."
As the captain left, Uncle Joe thanked Tom and the trappers and joined
them at their table, providing the refreshment most liked by the
plainsmen, and the reminiscences became so interesting that the little
group scarcely noticed Tom arise and leave it. He was too restless to
stay indoors and soon found a place to his liking on the deck below,
near the bow, where he paced to and fro in the darkness, wrestling with
a tumult of hopes and fears. Reaching one end of his beat, he wheeled
and started back again, and as he passed the cabin door he suddenly
stopped and peered at the figure framed in the opening, and tore off his
hat, too surprised to speak.
"Mr. Boyd?" came a soft, inquiring, and anxious voice.
"Yes, Miss Cooper; but I thought you were fast asleep long ago!"
"I was," she replied; "but something that sounded like a shot awakened
me, and thinking that it seemed to come from the card tables, I became
fearful and dressed as hurriedly as I could in the dark. Is--is Uncle
Joe--all right?"
"In good health, good company, and in the best of spirits," replied Tom,
smiling at how the last word might be interpreted. "I left him only a
moment ago, swapping tales with some trappers."
"But the shot. Surely it _was_ a shot that awakened me?"
Tom chuckled. "Sleeve pistol fell to the floor and went off
accidentally," he explained. "Luckily no one was hurt, for the ball
passed out of a window and went over the river. Are you warm enough?
This wind is cutting." At her assent he took a step forward. "I'll see
you to your room if you wish."
"I'm too wide awake now to sleep for awhile," she replied, joining him.
"Didn't the boat stop?"
"Yes; two passengers went ashore in the yawl," he answered. "These
packets are certainly accommodating and deserve patronage. Why, Miss
Cooper, you're shivering! Are you sure you are warm enough?"
"Yes," she answered. "Something is bothering me. I don't know what it
is. I wish we were at Independence though. Day and night this river
fascinates me and almost frightens me. It is so swift, so treacherous,
so changeful. It reminds me of some great cat, slipping through a
jungle; and I can't throw the feeling off. If you don't mind, I'll join
you in your sentry-go, you seem to give me the assurance I lack; but
perhaps I'll interfere with your thoughts?"
"Hardly that," he laughed, thrilling as she took his arm for safety
against stumbles in the dark. "You stimulate them, instead. I really was
pacing off a fit of restlessness; but it's gone now. Look here; I wonder
if you fully realize the certain hardships and probable dangers of the
overland journey you are about to make?"
"Perfectly, Mr. Boyd," she answered, quietly. "You'll find me a
different person on land. I underestimate nothing, but hope for the
best. From little things I've picked up here and there I really believe
that the dangers of the trail will be incidental when compared with
those at the other end--at Santa Fe. I have reason to believe that
father has had a great deal of trouble, along with other Americans, with
Governor Armijo. Why is it that American citizens are insulted with
impunity by Mexican officials? I understand that an Englishman may
safely travel from one end of Mexico to the other, secure from
annoyance, unless it be at the hands of Indians over whom the government
exercises but little control."
"It's a universal complaint along the frontier," he replied. "It seems
to be the policy of this country to avoid hurting the sensibilities of
any vicious officialdom or ignorant populace. We seem to prefer to have
our citizens harassed, insulted, and denied justice, rather than assert
unequivocally that the flag goes in spirit with every one of us so long
as we obey the laws of any country we are in. If it were not for the
banding together of the American traders and merchants in Santa Fe, it
would be very hazardous for an American to remain there. Armijo has had
a few clashes with our people and is beginning to have a little respect
for their determination and ability to defend their rights. Since the
sufferings of the Texans have become known, there are any number of
Americans in frontier garb who would cheerfully choke him to death. It
would be a godsend to the New Mexican people if----"
There came a terrific crash, the boat stopped suddenly and the deck
arose under their feet as a huge log smashed up through it. They were
torn apart and thrown down, and as Tom scrambled to his feet, calling
his companion's name, he felt a great relief surge through him as he
heard her answer.