watch, advised their partners in this crime at Ute creek at what time
a large shipment of gold would probably be made, and the number of
passengers, with their names, the coach would carry.
Wal. absented himself from the camp a day or two at a time, and it
began to be murmured that he could tell, if he would, a great deal
concerning these systematic robberies. It was even hinted that he not
only directly aided and abetted the attacks on the coach, but took an
active part himself.
He was very reticent on the subject, and it was a fact commented upon
by nearly every one in camp, that after an absence of two or three days
he would invariably turn up the very morning after a robbery with a
load of wood for sale, and as demurely ride through town on his little
wagon as if such a thing as an attack on the coach the day before had
never taken place.
Of course no positive proof of his complicity could be obtained, yet
it was generally believed that he belonged to the gang.
The man who kept the principal saloon was well known throughout the
Territory, not only on account of his size and weight but also in
consequence of his insatiable thirst for "bug-juice" and his dexterous
manipulation of the cards; and he was withal a law-abiding citizen. He
would tolerate nothing that was not strictly "regular" in the eye of
the law. He wouldn't steal a horse, or carry off a red-hot stove, but
woe to the unfortunate and confiding individual who sat down to his
game with the expectation of leaving with a cent in his clothes.
His thorough knowledge of monte, faro, poker, and other "genteel"
games, made him as much a terror behind the green-covered table as a
pack of highway robbers. While he would not hesitate to fleece some
unsuspecting victim in a "gentlemanly" game, he had no sympathy with
any law-breaker or "road agent" who would halt a man for his money
without the farcical proceeding of having a little bout of cards to win
it honorably.
One afternoon while the robberies of the mail coach were at their
height, three or four broken-down gamblers sauntered into his saloon
and commenced to discuss the last depredation, and the _modus
operandi_ of the efficient "agents."
Prominent among the group was Wal.; each had his theory to advance, and
each expressed it freely.
The barkeeper said: "Don't yer understand,"--a favorite expression when
excited--"don't yer understand, the ---- rascals don't live a great
ways from this camp, and I wouldn't wonder if a few of them--don't
yer understand--are right in sight of this shebang now, don't yer
understand. I hain't got no sympathy for any such work--don't yer
understand--and would help hang every mother's son of 'em, don't yer
understand!"
Old Sam Bartlett expressed it as "his opinion that Reub. Jones, of Ute
creek, knowed all about it, and was at the head of the gang."
Wal. put in his oar occasionally, but from his remarks it was apparent
that his sympathy was rather in favor of that style of robbing than
"stealing it through a ---- old faro-box."
Words waxed high, and it was evident there "was going to be a
difficult," as Kit Carson used to say.
The proprietor saw that trouble would ensue if the conversation was not
dropped; so, desirous of putting an end to it, he turned to Wal. and
said: "Wal., we've had enough of this--so come on and have a drink and
go home."
Wal. accepted the invitation, and with a closing remark that "he
considered the robbers were a ---- sight better than some of the
genteel thieves who lived right in camp," he walked up to the bar,
while the owner from behind said, "Wal., what will you have?"
"I'll take whisky in mine," answered Wal.
Glass and bottle were set out, and while the proprietor was mixing a
toddy beneath the bar for himself, Wal. seized the bottle, poured his
glass full to the brim, then deliberately emptied it on the counter
with the remark, "If you don't like that, why, then take your change
anyway you want it," at the same instant putting his hand on his hip as
if in the act of drawing his pistol.
As quick as thought, the proprietor, knowing the desperate character
of the man he had to deal with, seized a pistol from behind the bar,
leveled it, fired, and Wal. fell dead; then, immediately stepping from
where he was to the front, pistol in hand, he emptied the remaining
chambers of his revolver into the prostrate body.
He gave himself up at once; an examination was shortly held before the
alcalde, where all the facts were elicited, and the verdict of the
jury was, "Justifiable homicide."
Thus ended the career of Wal. Henderson, whose bones are reposing on
the little hill above the now abandoned camp, where a score or more of
others lie who went the same way.
KIT CARSON'S PAWNEE ROCK STORY.
Pawnee Rock has probably been the scene of a hundred fights, and a
volume could be written in relation to it. Kit Carson, one night some
years ago, when camped half-way up the rugged sides of "Old Baldy" in
the Raton Range, told in his peculiarly expressive way, among other
border reminiscences, the following little story, the incidents of
which occurred long years ago.
The night was cold, although midsummer, and we were huddled around a
little fire of pine-knots, more than eight thousand feet above the
level of the sea, close to the snow limit. We had left Maxwell's early
in the morning to trace a quartz lead that cropped out near the mouth
of the copper mine worked by him, and night overtook us many miles from
the ranch; so we concluded to remain on the mountain until daylight. We
had no blankets, and of course had to sit up through the long hours;
and as it was terribly cold, we made a fire, filled our pipes, and
spun yarns to keep awake. Our lunch that we had brought was all eaten
about noon,--so we were supperless as well; but a swift cold mountain
stream ran close to our little camp, and we took a swallow of that
occasionally, which served the place of a meal.
Kit (the General, as every one called him) was in a good humor for
talking, and we naturally took advantage of this to draw him out,--for
usually he was the most reticent of men in relation to his own
exploits. The night was pretty dark, there was no moon, and our fire
of dry knots blazed up beautifully every time the two Indians, whom we
had appointed to this special duty, threw a fresh armful on. The flames
cast their weird and fanciful shadows on the side of the mountain, and
contrasted curiously with the inky blackness all around below us, while
far above could be seen the dim outline of "Old Baldy's" scarred and
weather-beaten crest--crag piled upon crag, until they seemed to touch
the starlit sky.
For an hour or two the conversation was confined to the probabilities
of gold being found in paying quantities in the mountains and gulches
of the range; and when the interest on that subject flagged, Maxwell
having made a casual remark in relation to some peak near by, just
discernible in the darkness, and connecting the locality with some
trouble he had had ten or a dozen years before with the Indians, his
reminiscences opened Kit Carson's mouth, and he said he remembered
one of the "worst difficults" a man ever got into; so he made a fresh
corn-shuck cigarette and told us the following about Pawnee Rock,
which he said had been written up years ago, and that he had a paper
containing it (which he afterward gave me), and which, with what Kit
related orally that night, is here presented:
"It was old Jim Gibson--poor fellow, he went under in a fight with the
Utes over twenty years ago, and his bones are bleaching somewhere in
the dark cañons of the range, or on the slopes of the Spanish Peaks. He
used to tell of a scrimmage he and another fellow had on the Arkansas
with the Kiowas, in 1836.
"Jim and his partner, Bill something-or-other,--I disremember his name
now,--had been trapping up in the Powder river country during the
winter, with unusual good luck. The beaver was mighty thick in the
whole Yellowstone region in them days, and Jim and Bill got an early
start on their journey for the River[2] that spring. You see they
expected to sell their truck in Weston, Mo., which was the principal
trading-point on the River then. They walked the whole distance--over
fifteen hundred miles--driving three good mules before them, on which
their plunder was packed, and they got along well enough until they
struck the Arkansas river at Pawnee Rock. Here they met a war party
of about sixty Kiowas, who treed them on the Rock. Jim and Bill were
notoriously brave, and both dead shots.
[2] In the old days, among the plainsmen and mountaineers,
whenever "the River" was alluded to it was understood to mean
the Missouri.
"Before they reached the Rock, to which they were driven, they killed
ten of the Kiowas, and had not received a scratch. They had plenty
of powder and a pouchful of bullets each. They also had a couple of
jack-rabbits for food in case of a siege, and the perpendicular walls
of the Rock made them a natural fortification--an almost impregnable
one.
"They succeeded in securely picketing their animals on the west side of
the Rock, where they could protect them by their unerring rifles----but
the story of the fight must be told in Jim's own way; he was a pretty
well educated fellow, and had been to college, I believe, in his
younger days,--lost the gal he was going to marry, or had some bad
luck or other, and took to the prairies when he was about twenty. I
will try to tell it as near as he did as possible:
"After the durned red cusses had treed us, they picked up their dead
and packed them to their camp at the mouth of the creek a little piece
off. In a few moments back they all came, mounted, with all their
fixings and war-paint on. Then they commenced to circle around us,
coming closer, Indian fashion, every time, till they got within easy
rifle range, when they slung themselves on the fore sides of their
ponies, and in that position opened on us. Their arrows fell like a
hail-storm around us for a few minutes, but as good luck would have it,
none of them struck. I was afraid that first of all, they would attempt
to kill our mules; but I suppose they thought they had the dead wood
on us, and the mules would come mighty handy for their own use after
our scalps were dangling at their belts. But we were taking in all the
chances. Bill kept his eyes skinned, and whenever he saw a stray leg
or head he drew a bead on it, and _thug!_ over tumbled its owner every
time, with a yell of rage.
"Whenever they attempted to carry off their dead, that was the moment
we took the advantage, and we poured it into them as soon as they
rallied for that purpose, with telling effect. We wasted no shots; we
had now only about forty bullets between us, and the miserable cusses
seemed thick as ever.
"The sun was nearly down by this time, and at dark they did not seem
anxious to renew the fight that night, but I could see their mounted
patrols at a respectable distance on every side, watching to prevent
our escape. I took advantage of the darkness to go down and get a few
buffalo-chips to cook our supper, for we were mighty hungry, and to
change the animals to where they could get a little more grass,--though
for that matter it was nearly up to a man's head all over the bottom.
"I got back to our camp on top without any trouble, when we made a
little fire and cooked a rabbit. We had to go without water, and so did
the animals; though we did not mind the want of it so much ourselves,
we pitied the mules, which had had none since we broke camp in the
morning. It was of no use to worry about it, though; the nearest water
was in the spring at the Indian camp, and it would be certain death to
attempt to get there.
"I was afraid the red devils would fire the prairie in the morning and
endeavor to smoke or burn us out. The grass was just in a condition to
make a lively blaze, and we might escape the flames,--and we might not.
"We watched with eager eyes for the first gray streaks of dawn that
would usher in another day--perhaps the last for us.
"The next morning's sun had scarcely peeped above the horizon, when,
with an infernal yell, the Indians broke for the Rock, and we knew some
new project had entered their heads.
"The wind was springing up pretty fresh, and nature seemed to conspire
with the red devils if they really meant to burn us out,--and I had no
doubt now from their movements that that was what they intended. The
darned cusses kept at such a respectful distance from our rifles that
it chafed us to know that we could not stop the infernal throats of
some of them with our bullets; but we had to choke our rage and watch
events closely.
"I took occasion during the lull in hostilities to crawl down to where
the mules were and shift them to the east side of the Rock, where the
wall was the highest, so that the flames and smoke might possibly pass
by them without so much danger as on the exposed other side.
"I succeeded in doing this, and also in tearing away the grass for
several yards around the animals, and was just starting back when Bill
called out, '---- 'em, they've fired the prairie!'
"I reached the top of the Rock in a moment, and took in at a glance
what was coming. The spectacle for a short interval was indescribably
grand. The sun was shining with all the powers of its rays on the
huge clouds of smoke as they rolled down from the north, tinting them
with a glorious crimson. I had barely time to get under shelter of a
projecting point of the Rock when the wind and smoke swept down to the
ground, and instantly we were enveloped in the darkness of midnight.
We could not discern a single object, neither Indians, horses, the
prairie, nor sun--and what a terrible wind! I have never experienced
its equal in violence since. We stood breathless, and clinging to the
projection of our little mass of rock did not realize that the fire was
so near until we were struck in the face by the burning buffalo-chips
that were carried toward us with the rapidity of the wind. I was
really scared; it seemed as if we must suffocate. But we were saved
miraculously. The sheet of flame passed us twenty yards away, as the
wind fortunately shifted the moment the fire reached the Rock. Yet the
darkness was so perfect we did not see the flame; we only knew that we
were safe, as the clear sky greeted us "behind the dense cloud of smoke.
"Two of the Indians and their horses were caught in their own trap,
and perished miserably. They had attempted to reach the east side of
the Rock where the mules were, either to cut them loose or crawl up on
us while bewildered in the smoke, if we escaped death. But they had
proceeded only a few rods on their little expedition when the terrible
darkness of the smoke-cloud overtook them.
"All the game on the prairie which the fire swept over was killed too.
Only a few buffaloes were visible in that region before the fire, but
even they were killed. The path of this horrible passage of flames,
as we learned afterward, was marked all along with the crisped and
blackened carcasses of wolves, coyotes, turkeys, grouse, and every
variety of small birds. Indeed, it seemed as if no living thing it met
had escaped its fury.
"The fire assumed such gigantic proportions and moved with such
rapidity before the terrible wind, that even the Arkansas river did
not check its path for a moment, and we watched it carried across
as readily as if the river had not been in the way. This fearful
prairie-fire traveled at the rate of eight miles in fifteen minutes,
and was probably the most violent in its features that ever visited
that country. It was the most sublime picture I ever looked upon, and
for a moment it made us forget our perilous position.
"My first thought, after the danger had passed, was of the poor mules.
I crawled down to where they were, and found them badly singed but not
seriously hurt. I thought, 'So far so good;' our mules and traps were
all right, so we took courage and began to think we should get out of
the nasty scrape in some way or other.
"In the meantime the Indians, with the exception of four or five left
to guard the Rock so we could not escape, had gone back to their camp
on the creek, and were evidently concocting some new scheme to capture
or kill us.
"We waited patiently two or three hours for the development of events,
snatching a little sleep by turns, until the sun was about four hours
high, when the Indians commenced their infernal howling again, and we
knew they had hit upon something; so we were on the alert in a moment
to discover it, and euchre them if possible.
"The devils this time had tied all their horses together, covered them
with branches of trees that they had cut on the creek, packed all the
lodgeskins on these, and then, driving the living breastworks before
them toward us, themselves followed close behind on foot. They kept
moving slowly but surely in the direction of the Rock, and matters
began to look serious for us once more.
"Bill put his hand in mine now, and said, 'Jim, now by ---- we got to
fight; we hain't done nothin' yit; this means business.'
"I said, 'You're right, Bill, old fellow; but they can't get us alive.
Our plan is to kill their ponies and make the cusses halt.'
"As I spoke, Bill--who was one of the best shots on the Plains--kind o'
threw his eye carelessly along the bar'l of his rifle, and one of the
ponies tumbled over on the blackened sod. One of the Indians ran out to
cut him loose, as I expected, and I took him clean off his feet without
a groan. Quicker than it takes me to tell it, we had stretched out
twelve of them on the prairie, and we made it so hot for them that they
got out of range, and were apparently holding a council of war.
"We kept watching the devils' movements, for we knew they would soon be
up to some confounded trick. The others did not make their appearance
immediately from behind their living breastworks, so we fired two shots
apiece into the horses, killing three of them and throwing the whole
outfit into confusion.
"We soon stopped their little plan, and they had now only the dead
bodies of the ponies we had killed, to protect them, for the others
had broken loose and stampeded off to camp. It was getting pretty hot
for Mr. Indian now, who was on foot and in easy range of our rifles.
We cleaned out one or two more while they were gradually pulling
themselves out of range, when of course we had to stop firing. The
Indians started off to their camp again, and during the lull in
hostilities we took an account of stock. We found we had used up all
our ammunition except three or four loads, and despair seemed to hover
over us once more.
"In a few moments we were surprised to see one of the warriors come
out alone from camp, and tearing off a piece of his white blanket, he
boldly walked toward the Rock. Coming up within hearing, he asked if we
would have a talk with him. We told him yes, but did not look for any
good results from it. We could not expect anything less than torture
if we allowed ourselves to be taken alive, so we determined not to be
caught in any trap. We knew we had done them too much damage to expect
any mercy, so we prepared to die in the fight, if we must die.
"We beckoned the young buck nearer and listened to what he had to
say. He said they were part of White Buffalo's band of Kiowas; that
the war chief who was here with them was O-ton-son-e-var ('a herd of
buffaloes'), and that he wanted us to come to the camp; that we were
'heap brave'; we should be kindly treated, and that the tribe would
adopt us. They were on their way to the Sioux country north of the
Platte; that they were going there to steal horses from the Sioux. They
expected a fight, and wanted us to help them.
[Illustration: O-TON-SON-E-VAR.]
"Bill and myself knew the darned Indians too well to swallow their
chaff, so we told them that we could not think of accepting their
terms; that we were on our way to the Missouri, and meant to get there
or die in the attempt; that we did not fear them,--the white man's God
would take care of us; and that if that was all they had to talk about,
he could go back and tell his party they could begin the fight again as
soon as they pleased.
"He started back, and before he had reached the creek they came out and
met him, had a confab, and then began the attack on us at once. We made
each of our four loads tell, and then stood at bay, almost helpless and
defenseless: we were at the mercy of the savages, and they understood
our situation as quickly as ourselves.
"We were now thrown upon our last resource--the boy's-play of throwing
stones. As long as we could find detached pieces of rock they did not
dare to make an assault, and while we were still wondering what next,
the white flag appeared again and demanded another talk. We knew that
now we had to come to terms, and make up our minds to accept anything
that savored of reason and our lives, trusting to the future to escape
if they kept us as prisoners.
"'The Kiowas are not prisoners, and they know brave men,' said the
Indian; 'we will not kill you, though the prairie-grass is red with the
blood of our warriors that have died by your hands. We will give you
a chance for your lives, and let you prove that the Great Spirit of
the white man is powerful, and can save you. Behold,' said the Indian,
pointing with an arrow to a solitary cottonwood on the banks of the
Arkansas, a mile or more away, 'you must go there, and one of you shall
run the knife-gauntlet from that tree two hundred steps of the chief
out toward the prairie. If the one who runs escapes, both are free, for
the Great Spirit has willed it. O-ton-son-e-var has said it, and the
words of the Kiowa are true.'
"'When must the trial take place?' said I.
"'When the sun begins to shine upon the western edge of the Rock,'
replied the Indian.
"'Say to your chief we accept the challenge and will be ready,' said
Bill, motioning the young warrior away. 'I am sure I can win,' said he,
'and can save both our lives. O-ton-son-e-var will keep his word--I
know him.'
"'Bill,' said I, 'I shall run that race, not you;' and taking him by
the hand I told him that if he saw I was going to fail, to watch his
chance, and in the excitement of the moment mount one of their horses
and fly toward Bent's Fort; he could escape--he was young; it made no
difference with me--my life was not worth much, but he had all before
him.
"'No,' replied Bill, 'my heart is set on this; I traveled the same race
once before when the Apaches got me, and their knives never struck me
once. I ask this favor as my life, for I have a presentiment that it is
only I can win. I know how to get every advantage of them. So say no
more.'
"The sun had scarcely gilded that portion of the dark line of the
Rock that juts out boldly toward the western horizon, before all the
warriors, with O-ton-son-e-var at their head, marched silently toward
the tree and beckoned us to come.
[Illustration: PACER'S SON--CHIEF OF ALL THE APACHES.]
"Quickly we were on the prairie beside them, when they opened a space,
and we walked in their center without exchanging a word. There were
only thirty left of that band of sixty proud warriors who had commenced
the attack on us the day before, and I could see by the scowls with
which they regarded us, and by the convulsive clutching at their
knives by the younger ones, that it was only the presence and power of
O-ton-son-e-var which prevented them from taking summary vengeance upon
us.
"As soon as we reached the tree, O-ton-son-e-var paced the two
hundred steps, and arranged his warriors on either side, who in a
moment stripped themselves to the waist, and each seizing his long
scalping-knife, and bracing himself, held it high over his head, so as
to strike a blow that would carry it to the hilt at once.
"The question of who should be their victim was settled immediately,
for as I stepped forward to face that narrow passage of probable
death, the chief signaled me back with an impulsive gesture not to be
misunderstood, and pointing to Bill, told him to prepare himself for
the bloody trial.
"I attempted to protest, and was urging my most earnest words, when
O-ton-son-e-var said he had decided, and 'the young man must run,'
adding that 'even a drop of blood from any one of the knives meant
death to both.'
"Each savage stood firm, with his glittering blade reflecting the rays
of the evening sun, and on each hard cold face a determination to have
the heart's blood of their victim.