ACCIDENTS AND ESCAPES.
My restless, roaming spirit would not allow me to remain at home very
long, and in November, after the recovery of my mother, I went up the
Republican River and its tributaries on a trapping expedition in company
with Dave Harrington. Our outfit consisted of one wagon and a yoke of
oxen for the transportation of provisions, traps, and other necessaries.
We began trapping near Junction City, Kansas, and then proceeded up the
Republican River to the mouth of Prairie Dog Creek, where we found plenty
of beavers.
Having seen no signs of Indians thus far, we felt comparatively safe. We
were catching a large number of beavers and were prospering finely, when
one of our oxen, having become rather poor, slipped and fell upon the
ice, dislocating his hip, so that we had to shoot him to end his misery.
This left us without a team; but we cared little for that, however, as we
had made up our minds to remain there till spring, when, and it was
decided, that one of us should go to the nearest settlement and get a
yoke of oxen with which to haul our wagon into some place of safety where
we could leave it.
We would probably have pulled through the winter all right had it not
been for a very serious accident which befell me just at that time.
Spying a herd of elk, we started in pursuit of them, and creeping up
towards them as slyly as possible, while going around the bend of a sharp
bluff or bank of the creek I slipped and broke my leg just above the
ankle. Notwithstanding the great pain I was suffering, Harrington could
not help laughing when I urged him to shoot me, as he had the ox, and
thus end my misery. He told me to "brace up," and that he would bring me
out "all right." "I am not much of a surgeon," said he, "but I can fix
that leg of yours, even if I haven't got a diploma."
He succeeded in getting me back to camp, which was only a few yards from
the creek, and then he set the fracture as well as he knew how, and made
me as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances. We then
discussed the situation, which to say the least, looked pretty blue.
Knowing that, owing to our mishaps, we could not do anything more that
winter, and as I dreaded the idea of lying there on my back with a broken
leg for weeks, and perhaps months, I prevailed upon Harrington to go the
nearest settlement--about 125 miles distant--to obtain a yoke of cattle,
and then come back for me.
This he consented to do; but before leaving he gathered plenty of wood,
and as the ground was covered with snow, I would have no difficulty in
getting water if I had a fire. There was plenty of fresh meat and other
provisions in the "dug-out," so that I had no fears of starvation. The
"dugout," which we had built immediately after we had determined to
remain there all winter, was a very cosy hole in the ground, covered with
poles, grass and sod, with a fireplace in one end.
Harrington thought it would take him twenty days or more to make the
round trip; but being well provided for--for this length of time--I
urged him to go at once. Bidding me good-bye he started on foot. After
his departure, each day, as it came and went, seemed to grow longer to me
as I lay there helpless and alone. I made a note of each day, so as to
know the time when I might expect him back.
[Illustration: SAVED BY CHIEF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.]
On the twelfth day after Harrington left me, I was awakened from a sound
sleep by some one touching me upon the shoulder. I looked up and was
astonished to see an Indian warrior standing at my side. His face was
hideously daubed with paint, which told me more forcibly than words could
have done that he was on the war-path. He spoke to me in broken English
and Sioux mixed, and I understood him to ask what I was doing there, and
how many there were with me.
By this time the little dug-out was nearly filled with other Indians, who
had been peeping in at the door, and I could hear voices of still more
outside as well as the stamping of horses. I began to think that my time
had come, as the saying is, when into the cabin stepped an elderly
Indian, whom I readily recognized as old Rain-in-the-Face, a Sioux chief
from the vicinity of Fort Laramie. I rose up as well as I could and
showed him my broken leg. I told him where I had seen him, and asked him
if he remembered me. He replied that he knew me well, and that I used to
come to his lodge at Fort Laramie to visit him. I then managed to make
him understand that I was there alone and having broken my leg, I had
sent my partner off for a team to take me away. I asked him if his young
men intended to kill me, and he answered, that was what they had proposed
to do, but he would see what they had to say.
The Indians then talked among themselves for a few minutes, and upon the
conclusion of the consultation, old Rain-in-the-Face turned to me and
gave me to understand that as I was yet a "papoose," or a very young man,
they would not take my life. But one of his men, who had no fire-arms,
wanted my gun and pistol. I implored old Rain-in-the-Face to be allowed
to keep the weapons, or at least one of them, as I needed something with
which to keep the wolves away. He replied that as his young men were out
on the war path, he had induced them to spare my life; but he could not
prevent them from taking what ever else they wanted.
They unsaddled their horses as if to remain there for some time, and sure
enough they stayed the remainder of the day and all night. They built a
fire in the dug-out and cooked a lot of my provisions, helping themselves
to everything as if they owned it. However, they were polite enough to
give me some of the food after they had cooked it. It was a sumptuous
feast that they had, and they seemed to relish it as if it was the best
lay-out they had had for many a long day. They took all my sugar and
coffee, and left me only some meat and a small quantity of flour, a
little salt and some baking powder. They also robbed me of such cooking
utensils as they wished; then bidding me good-bye, early in the morning,
they mounted their ponies and rode off to the south, evidently bent on
some murdering and thieving expedition.
I was glad enough to see them leave, as my life had undoubtedly hung by a
thread during their presence. I am confident that had it not been for my
youth and the timely recognition and interference of old Rain-in-the-Face
they would have killed me without any hesitation or ceremony.
The second day after they had gone it began snowing, and for three long
and weary days the snow continued to fall thick and fast. It blocked the
door-way and covered the dug-out to the depth of several feet, so that I
became a snowbound prisoner. My wood was mostly under the snow, and it
was with great difficulty that I could get enough to start a fire with.
My prospects were gloomy indeed. I had just faced death at the hands of
the Indians, and now I was in danger of losing my life from starvation
and cold. I knew that the heavy snow would surely delay Harrington on his
return; and I feared that he might have perished in the storm, or that
some other accident might have befallen him. Perhaps some wandering band
of Indians had run across him and killed him.
I was continually thinking of all these possibilities, and I must say
that my outlook seemed desperate. At last the twentieth day
arrived--the day on which Harrington was to return--and I counted the
hours from morning till night, but the day passed away with no signs of
Harrington. The wolves made the night hideous with their howls; they
gathered around the dug-out; ran over the roof; and pawed and scratched
as if trying to get in.
Several days and nights thus wore away, the monotony all the time
becoming greater, until at last it became almost unendurable. Some days I
would go without any fire at all, and eat raw frozen meat and melt snow
in my mouth for water. I became almost convinced that Harrington had been
caught in the storm and had been buried under the snow, or was lost. Many
a time during that dreary period of uncertainty, I made up my mind that
if I ever got out of that place alive, I would abandon the plains and the
life of a trapper forever. I had nearly given up all hopes of leaving the
dug-out alive.
It was on the twenty-ninth day, while I was lying thus despondently
thinking and wondering, that I heard the cheerful sound of Harrington's
voice as he came slowly up the creek, yelling, "whoa! haw!" to his
cattle. A criminal on the scaffold, with the noose around his neck, the
trap about to be sprung, and receiving a pardon just at the last moment,
thus giving him a new lease of life, could not have been more grateful
than I was at that time. It was useless for me to try to force the door
open, as the snow had completely blockaded it, and I therefore anxiously
awaited Harrington's arrival.
"Hello! Billy!" he sang out in a loud voice as he came up, he evidently
being uncertain as to my being alive.
"All right, Dave," was my reply.
"Well, old boy, you're alive, are you?" said he.
"Yes; and that's about all. I've had a tough siege of it since you've
been away, and I came pretty nearly passing in my chips. I began to
think you never would get here, as I was afraid you had been snowed
under," said I.
He soon cleared away the snow from the entrance, and opening the door he
came in. I don't think there ever was a more welcome visitor than he was.
I remember that I was so glad to see him that I put my arms around his
neck and hugged him for five minutes; never shall I forget faithful Dave
Harrington.
"Well, Billy, my boy, I hardly expected to see you alive again," said
Harrington, as soon as I had given him an opportunity to draw his breath;
"I had a terrible trip of it, and I didn't think I ever would get
through. I was caught in the snow-storm, and was laid up for three days.
The cattle wandered away, and I came within an ace of losing them
altogether. When I got started again the snow was so deep that it
prevented me from making much headway. But as I had left you here I was
bound to come through, or die in the attempt."
Again I flung my arms around Dave's neck and gave him a hug that would
have done honor to a grizzly bear. My gratitude was thus much more
forcibly expressed than it could have been by words. Harrington
understood this, and seemed to appreciate it. The tears of joy rolled
down my cheeks, and it was impossible for me to restrain them. When my
life had been threatened by the Indians I had not felt half so miserable
as when I lay in the dug-out thinking I was destined to die a slow death
by starvation and cold. The Indians would have made short work of it, and
would have given me little or no time to think of my fate.
I questioned Harrington as to his trip, and learned all the details. He
had passed through hardships which but few men could have endured. Noble
fellow, that he was. He had risked his own life to save mine.
After he had finished his story, every word of which I had listened to
with eager interest, I related to him my own experiences, in which he
became no less interested. He expressed great astonishment that the
Indians had not killed me, and he considered it one of the luckiest and
most remarkable escapes he had ever heard of. It amused me, however, to
see him get very angry when I told him that they had taken my gun and
pistol and had used up our provisions. "But never mind, Billy," said he,
"we can stand it till the snow goes off, which will not be long, and then
we will pull our wagon back to the settlements."
A few days afterwards Harrington gathered up our traps, and cleaned the
snow out of the wagon. Covering it with the sheet which we had used in
the dug-out, he made a comfortable bed inside, and helped me into it. We
had been quite successful in trapping, having caught three hundred
beavers and one hundred otters, the skins of which Harrington loaded on
the wagon. We then pulled out for the settlements, making good headway,
as the snow had nearly disappeared, having been blown or melted away, so
that we had no difficulty in finding a road. On the eighth day out we
came to a farmer's house, or ranch, on the Republican River, where we
stopped and rested for two days, and then went on to the ranch where
Harrington had obtained the yoke of cattle. We gave the owner of the team
twenty-five beaver skins, equal to $60, for the use of the cattle, and he
let us have them until we reached Junction City, sending his boy with us
to bring them back.
At Junction City we sold our wagon and furs and went with a government
mule train to Leavenworth--arriving there in March, 1860. I was just able
to get around on crutches when I got into Leavenworth, and it was several
months after that before I entirely recovered the use of my leg.
During the winter I had often talked to Harrington about my mother and
sisters, and had invited him to go home with me in the spring. I now
renewed the invitation, which he accepted, and accompanied me home. When
I related to mother my adventures and told her how Harrington had saved
my life, she thanked him again and again. I never saw a more grateful
woman than she was. She asked him to always make his home with us, as she
never could reward him sufficiently for what he had done for her darling
boy, as she called me. Harrington concluded to remain with us through the
summer and farm mother's land. But alas! the uncertainty of life. The
coming of death when least expected was strikingly illustrated in his
case. During the latter part of April he went to a nursery for some
trees, and while coming home late at night he caught a severe cold and
was taken seriously sick, with lung fever. Mother did everything in her
power for him. She could not have done more had he been her own son, but
notwithstanding her motherly care and attention, and the skill of a
physician from Leavenworth, he rapidly grew worse. It seemed hard,
indeed, to think that a great strong man like Harrington, who had braved
the storms, and endured the other hardships of the plains all winter
long, should, during the warm and beautiful days of spring, when
surrounded by friends and the comforts of a good home, be fatally
stricken down. But such was his fate. He died one week from the day on
which he was taken sick. We all mourned his loss as we would that of a
loved son or brother, as he was one of the truest, bravest, and best of
friends. Amid sorrow and tears we laid him away to rest in a picturesque
spot on Pilot Knob. His death cast a gloom over our household, and it was
a long time before it was entirely dispelled. I felt very lonely without
Harrington, and I soon wished for a change of scene again.