Long after the Indians went to sleep I lay there, looking into the fire
and thinking. Many and varied were the fancies that chased each other
through my restless brain--some pleasant, some unpleasant. I pondered on
the novelty, even the danger, of my situation. I was away up there in
that wild, trackless, mountain wilderness, alone, so far as any
congenial companionship was concerned. Yes, I was worse than alone, for
the moment I might close my eyes and sleep I would be at the mercy of
these two reckless red men. True, they are not of a courageous, warlike
race, but what might they not do for the sake of plunder? They could
crush my skull at a blow and conceal my body beyond all possibility of
discovery; or they could leave it and, saying I had killed myself by a
fall, reveal its resting place to anyone who might care to go in search
of me. I had some property with me, especially my rifle, sleeping-bag,
and a small sum of money, that I knew they coveted, and I reflected that
they might already have concocted some foul scheme for disposing of me
and getting possession of my effects.
In their native tongue of strange, weird gutturals, hisses, and
aspirations, they had conversed all the evening of--I knew not what.
John had rather an honest, frank face, that I thought bespoke a good
heart, but Seymour had a dark, repulsive countenance that plainly
indicated a treacherous nature. From the first I had made up my mind
that he was a thief, if nothing worse. He pretended not to be able to
speak or understand English, although I knew he could. John spoke our
tongue fairly, and through him all communication with either or both was
held. Should they contemplate any violence I would welcome them both to
an encounter, if only I could have notice of it a second in advance.
Their two old smooth-bore muskets would cut no figure against the deadly
stream of fire that my Winchester express could pour forth. But I
dreaded the treachery, the stealth, the silent midnight assault that is
a characteristic of their race. Yet, on further consideration, I
dismissed all such forebodings as purely chimerical. These were
civilized Indians, living within the sound of the whistle of a railroad
engine, and would hardly be willing to place themselves within the toils
of the law, by the commission of such a crime, even if they had the
courage or the desire to do it, and I hoped they had neither.
Then my fancies turned to the contemplation of pleasanter themes. I
thought of the dear little black-eyed woman, whom I had parted with on
board the steamer nearly a week ago. She is homeward-bound and must now
be speeding over the Dakota or Minnesota prairies, well on toward St.
Paul. Will she reach home in safety? God grant it--and that in due time
I may be permitted to join her there. Then other familiar images passed
and repassed my mental ken. The kind acts of dear friends, the
hospitalities shown me by strangers and passing acquaintances in distant
lands and in years long agone came trooping through my memory, and a
feeling of gratitude for those kindnesses supplanted for the time that
of solitude. Gradually and sweetly I sank into a profound slumber and
all was stillness and oblivion.
Several hours, perhaps, have passed, and I am thirsty. I get up and
start to the little brook for water; to reach it a log, lying across a
deep fissure in the rocks, must be scaled. With no thought of danger I
essay the task by the dying fire's uncertain light and that of the
twinkling stars. I have not counted on the heavy covering of frost that
has been deposited on the log since dark, and stepping out upon the
barkless part of the trunk, my moccasins slip, and with a shriek and a
wild but unsuccessful grasp at an overhanging limb I fall twenty feet
and land on the mass of broken and jagged granite beneath! The Indians,
alarmed by my cries, spring to my relief, carry me to the fire, give me
stimulants, bind up my broken arm, and do all in their power to
alleviate my sufferings.
They are not the crafty villains and assassins that my fancy had
painted. They are kind, sympathetic friends. I realize that my right
collar-bone and three ribs on the same side are broken, and when I
remember where I am, the deplorableness and utter helplessness of my
condition appal me.
[Illustration: EN ROUTE TO THE INDIAN VILLAGE.]
The long hours until daylight drag slowly by, and at last, as the sun
tips the distant mountain tops with golden light, we start on our
perilous and painful journey to the Indian village and to the steamboat
landing. The two red men have rigged a litter from poles and blankets,
on which they carry me safely to their homes, and thence in a canoe to
the landing below. How the long, tedious journey thence, by steamer and
rail, to my own home is accomplished; how the weary days and nights of
suffering and delirium which I endure _en route_ were passed, are
subjects too painful to dwell upon. I am finally assisted from the
sleeper at my destination. My wife, whom the wire has informed of my
misfortune and my coming, is there. She greets me with that fervent
love, that intensity of pity and emotion that only a wife can feel. Her
lips move, but her tongue is paralyzed. For the time she can not speak;
the wells of her grief have gone dry; she can not weep; she can only
act. I am taken to my home, and the suspense, the anxiety, having been
lived out, the climax having been reached and passed I swoon away. Again
the surgeon appears to be racking me with pain in an effort to set the
broken ribs, and seems to be making an incision in my side for that
purpose, when I awake.
The stars shone brightly above me, the frost on the leaves sparkled
brightly in the fire-light. It took me several minutes to realize that I
had been dreaming. I searched for the cause of the acute pain in my
side, and found it to be the sharp point of a rock that my cedar boughs
had not sufficiently covered and which was trying to get in between two
of my ribs. I got up, removed it and slept better through the remainder
of the night.