examined it, turning his paw round and round, and quaintly bending
his head from side to side, looking at the trap from the corners of
his eyes, and with an air of mystery and puzzled curiosity, for he
evidently could not make out what the novel and painful appendage could
be; and every now and then smelt it and tapped it lightly on the rock.
This, however, only paining the animal the more, he would lick the
trap, as if deprecating its anger, and wishing to conciliate it.
After watching these curious antics for some time, as the bear
seemed inclined to resume his travels, Rube, to regain his trap,
was necessitated to bring the bear’s cogitations to a close, and,
levelling his rifle, shot him dead, cutting off his paw and returning
with it to camp, where the trappers were highly amused at the idea of
trapping a b’ar.
Near the same spot where Glass encountered his “scrape,” some score of
Sioux squaws were one day engaged in gathering cherries in a thicket
near their village, and had already nearly filled their baskets, when a
bear suddenly appeared in the midst, and, with a savage growl, charged
amongst them. Away ran the terrified squaws, yelling and shrieking,
out of the shrubbery, nor stopped until safely ensconced within their
lodges. Bruin, however, preferring fruit to meat, albeit of tender
squaws, after routing the petticoats, quietly betook himself to the
baskets, which he quickly emptied, and then quietly retired.
Bears are exceedingly fond of plums and cherries, and a thicket of this
fruit in the vicinity of the mountains is, at the season when they are
ripe, a sure “find” for Mr. Bruin. When they can get fruit they prefer
such food to meat, but are, nevertheless, carnivorous animals.
The game, _par excellence_, of the Rocky Mountains, and that which
takes precedence in a comestible point of view, is the carnero cimmaron
of the Mexicans, the Bighorn or Mountain sheep of the Canadian hunters.
This animal, which partakes both of the nature of the deer and
goat, resembles the latter more particularly in its habits, and its
characteristic liking to lofty, inaccessible points of the mountains,
whence it seldom descends to the upland valleys excepting in very
severe weather. In size the mountain-sheep is between the domestic
animal and the common red deer of America, but more strongly made than
the latter. Its colour is a brownish dun (the hair being tipped with
a darker tinge as the animal’s age increases), with a whitish streak
on the hind-quarters, the tail being shorter than a deer’s, and tipped
with black. The horns of the male are enormous, curved backwards, and
often three feet in length with a circumference of twenty inches near
the head. The hunters assert that, in descending the precipitous sides
of the mountains, the sheep frequently leap from a height of twenty or
thirty feet, invariably alighting on their horns, and thereby saving
their bones from certain dislocation.
They are even more acute in the organs of sight and smell than the
deer; and as they love to resort to the highest and most inaccessible
spots, whence a view can readily be had of approaching danger, and
particularly as one of the band is always stationed on the most
commanding pinnacle of rock as sentinel, whilst the others are feeding,
it is no easy matter to get within rifle-shot of the cautious animals.
When alarmed they ascend still higher up the mountain: halting now and
then on some overhanging crag, and looking down at the object which
may have frightened them, they again commence their ascent, leaping
from point to point, and throwing down an avalanche of rocks and stones
as they bound up the steep sides of the mountain. They are generally
very abundant in all parts of the main chain of the Rocky Mountains,
but particularly so in the vicinity of the “Parks” and the Bayou
Salado, as well as in the range between the upper waters of the Del
Norte and Arkansa, called the “Wet Mountain” by the trappers. On the
Sierra Madre, or Cordillera of New Mexico and Chihuahua, they are also
numerous.
The first mountain-sheep I killed, I got within shot of in rather a
curious manner. I had undertaken several unsuccessful hunts for the
purpose of procuring a pair of horns of this animal, as well as some
skins, which are of excellent quality when dressed, but had almost
given up any hope of approaching them, when one day, having killed
and butchered a black-tail deer in the mountains, I sat down with my
back to a small rock and fell asleep. On awaking, feeling inclined for
a smoke, I drew from my pouch a pipe, and flint and steel, and began
leisurely to cut a charge of tobacco. Whilst thus engaged I became
sensible of a peculiar odour which was wafted right into my face by
the breeze, and which, on snuffing it once or twice, I immediately
recognised as that which emanates from sheep and goats. Still I never
thought that one of the former animals could be in the neighbourhood,
for my mule was picketed on the little plateau where I sat, and was
leisurely cropping the buffalo-grass which thickly covered it.
Looking up carelessly from my work, as a whiff stronger than before
reached my nose, what was my astonishment at seeing five mountain-sheep
within ten paces, and regarding me with a curious and astonished
gaze! Without drawing a breath, I put out my hand and grasped the
rifle, which was lying within reach; but the motion, slight as it was,
sufficed to alarm them, and with a loud bleat the old ram bounded up
the mountain, followed by the band, and at so rapid a pace that all my
attempts to “draw a bead” upon them were ineffectual. When, however,
they reached a little plateau about one hundred and fifty yards from
where I stood, they suddenly stopped, and, approaching the edge,
looked down at me, shaking their heads, and bleating their displeasure
at the intrusion. No sooner did I see them stop than my rifle was at
my shoulder, and covering the broadside of the one nearest to me. An
instant after and I pulled the trigger, and at the report the sheep
jumped convulsively from the rock, and made one attempt to follow its
flying companions; but its strength failed, and, circling round once
or twice at the edge of the plateau, it fell over on its side, and,
rolling down the steep rock, tumbled dead very near me. My prize proved
a very fine young male, but had not a large pair of horns. It was,
however, “seal” fat, and afforded me a choice supply of meat, which
was certainly the best I had eaten in the mountains, being fat and
juicy, and in flavour somewhat partaking both of the domestic sheep and
buffalo.
Several attempts have been made to secure the young of these animals
and transport them to the States; and, for this purpose, an old
mountaineer, one Billy Williams, took with him a troop of milch-goats,
by which to bring up the young sheep; but although he managed to take
several fine lambs, I believe that he did not succeed in reaching the
frontier with one living specimen out of some half-score. The hunters
frequently rear them in the mountains; and they become greatly attached
to their masters, enlivening the camp with their merry gambols.
The elk, in point of size, ranks next to the buffalo. It is found in
all parts of the mountains, and descends not unfrequently far down into
the plains in the vicinity of the larger streams. A full-grown elk is
as large as a mule, with rather a heavy neck and body, and stout limbs,
its feet leaving a track as large as that of a two-year-old steer.
They are dull, sluggish animals, at least in comparison with others
of the deer tribe, and are easily approached and killed. In winter
they congregate in large herds, often numbering several hundreds; and
at that season are fond of travelling, their track through the snow
having the appearance of a broad beaten road. The elk requires less
killing than any other of the deer tribe (whose tenacity of life is
remarkable); a shot anywhere in the fore part of the animal brings
it to the ground. On one occasion I killed two with one ball, which
passed through the neck of the first, and struck the second, which was
standing a few paces distant, through the heart: both fell dead. A
deer, on the contrary, often runs a considerable distance, strike it
where you will. The meat of the elk is strong flavoured, and more like
“poor bull” than venison: it is only eatable when the animal is fat and
in good condition; at other times it is strong tasted and stringy.
The antelope, the smallest of the deer tribe, affords the hunter a
sweet and nutritious meat, when that of nearly every other description
of game, from the poorness and scarcity of the grass during the winter,
is barely eatable. They are seldom seen now in very large bands on
the grand prairies, having been driven from their old pastures by
the Indians and white hunters. The former, by means of “surrounds,”
an enclosed space formed in one of the passes used by these animals,
very often drive into the toils an entire band of antelope of several
hundreds, when not one escapes slaughter.
I have seen them on the western sides of the mountains, and in the
mountain valleys, in herds of several thousands. They are exceedingly
timid animals, but at the same time wonderfully curious; and their
curiosity very often proves their death, for the hunter, taking
advantage of this weakness, plants his wiping-stick in the ground, with
a cap or red handkerchief on the point, and, concealing himself in
the long grass, waits, rifle in hand, the approach of the inquisitive
antelope, who, seeing an unusual object in the plain, trots up to
it, and, coming within range of the deadly tube, pays dearly for his
temerity. An antelope, when alone, is one of the stupidest of beasts,
and becomes so confused and frightened at sight of a travelling party,
that it frequently runs right into the midst of the danger it seeks to
avoid.
I had heard most wonderful accounts from the trappers of an animal, the
existence of which was beyond all doubt, which, although exceedingly
rare, was occasionally met with in the mountains, but, from its
supposed dangerous ferocity, and the fact of its being a cross between
the devil and a bear, was never molested by the Indians or white
hunters, and a wide berth given whenever the animal made its dreaded
appearance. Most wonderful stories were told of its audacity and
fearlessness; how it sometimes jumps from an overhanging rock on a deer
or buffalo, and, fastening on its neck, soon brings it to the ground;
how it has been known to leap upon a hunter when passing near its place
of concealment, and devour him in a twinkling--often charging furiously
into a camp, and playing all sorts of pranks on the goods and chattels
of the mountaineers. The general belief was that the animal owes its
paternity to the old gentleman himself; but the most reasonable
declare it to be a cross between the bear and wolf.
Hunting one day with an old Canadian trapper, he told me that, in a
part of the mountains which we were about to visit on the morrow, he
once had a battle with a “carcagieu,” which lasted upwards of two
hours, during which he fired a pouchful of balls into the animal’s
body, which spat them out as fast as they were shot in. To the truth
of this probable [improbable] story he called all the saints to bear
witness.
Two days after, as we were toiling up a steep ridge after a band of
mountain-sheep, my companion, who was in advance, suddenly threw
himself flat behind a rock, and exclaimed in a smothered tone,
signalling me with his hand to keep down and conceal myself, “Sacré
enfant de Gârce, mais here’s von dam carcagieu!”
I immediately cocked my rifle, and, advancing to the rock, and peeping
over it, saw an animal, about the size of a large badger, engaged in
scraping up the earth about a dozen paces from where we were concealed.
Its colour was dark, almost black; its body long, and apparently
tailless; and I at once recognised the mysterious beast to be a
“glutton.” After I had sufficiently examined the animal, I raised my
rifle to shoot, when a louder than common “Enfant de Gârce” from my
companion alarmed the animal, and it immediately ran off, when I stood
up and fired both barrels after it, but without effect; the attempt
exciting a derisive laugh from the Canadian, who exclaimed, “Pe gar,
may be you got fifty balls; vel, shoot ’em all at de dam carcagieu, and
he not care a dam!”
The skins of these animals are considered “great medicine” by the
Indians, and will fetch almost any price. They are very rarely met
with on the plains, preferring the upland valleys and broken ground
of the mountains, which afford them a better field for their method
of securing game, which is by lying in wait behind a rock, or on the
steep bank of a ravine, concealed by a tree or shrub, until a deer or
antelope passes underneath, when they spring upon the animal’s back,
and, holding on with their strong and sharp claws, which they bury in
the flesh, soon bring it bleeding to the ground. The Indians say they
are purely carnivorous; but I imagine that, like the bear, they not
unfrequently eat fruit and roots, when animal food is not to be had.
I have said that the mountain wolves, and, still more so, the coyote
of the plains, are less frightened at the sight of man than any other
beast. One night, when encamped on an affluent of the Platte, a heavy
snow-storm falling at the time, I lay down in my blanket, after first
heaping on the fire a vast pile of wood, to burn till morning. In the
middle of the night I was awakened by the excessive cold, and, turning
towards the fire, which was burning bright and cheerfully, what was
my astonishment to see a large grey wolf sitting quietly before it,
his eyes closed, and his head nodding in sheer drowsiness! Although I
had frequently seen wolves evince their disregard to fires, by coming
within a few feet of them to seize upon any scraps of meat which might
be left exposed, I had never seen or heard of one approaching so close
as to warm his body, and for that purpose alone. However, I looked at
him for some moments without disturbing the beast, and closed my eyes
and went to sleep, leaving him to the quiet enjoyment of the blaze.
This is not very wonderful when I mention that it is a very common
thing for these animals to gnaw the straps of a saddle on which your
head is reposing for a pillow.
When I turned my horse’s head from Pike’s Peak I quite regretted the
abandonment of my mountain life, solitary as it was, and more than once
thought of again taking the trail to the Bayou Salado, where I had
enjoyed such good sport.
Apart from the feeling of loneliness which any one in my situation must
naturally have experienced, surrounded by stupendous works of nature,
which in all their solitary grandeur frowned upon me, and sinking into
utter insignificance the miserable mortal who crept beneath their
shadow; still there was something inexpressibly exhilarating in the
sensation of positive freedom from all worldly care, and a consequent
expansion of the sinews, as it were, of mind and body, which made
me feel elastic as a ball of Indian rubber, and in a state of such
perfect _insouciance_ that no more dread of scalping Indians entered
my mind than if I had been sitting in Broadway, in one of the windows
of Astor House. A citizen of the world, I never found any difficulty
in investing my resting-place, wherever it might be, with all the
attributes of a home; and hailed, with delight equal to that which the
artificial comforts of a civilized home would have caused, the, to
me, domestic appearance of my hobbled animals, as they grazed around
the camp, when I returned after a hard day’s hunt. By the way, I may
here remark that my _sporting_ feeling underwent a great change when I
was necessitated to follow and kill game for the support of life, and
as a means of subsistence; and the slaughter of deer and buffalo no
longer became _sport_ when the object was to fill the larder, and the
excitement of the hunt was occasioned by the alternative of a plentiful
feast or a banyan; and, although ranking under the head of the most
red-hot of sportsmen, I can safely acquit myself of ever wantonly
destroying a deer or buffalo unless I was in need of meat; and such
consideration for the feræ naturæ is common to all the mountaineers who
look to game alone for their support. Although liable to an accusation
of barbarism, I must confess that the very happiest moments of my
life have been spent in the wilderness of the far West; and I never
recall but with pleasure the remembrance of my solitary camp in the
Bayou Salado, with no friend near me more faithful than my rifle,
and no companions more sociable than my good horse and mules, or the
attendant coyote which nightly serenaded us. With a plentiful supply
of dry pine logs on the fire, and its cheerful blaze streaming far up
into the sky, illuminating the valley far and near, and exhibiting
the animals, with well-filled bellies, standing contentedly at rest
over their picket-pins, I would sit cross-legged enjoying the genial
warmth, and, pipe in mouth, watch the blue smoke as it curled upwards,
building castles in its vapoury wreaths, and, in the fantastic shapes
it assumed, peopling the solitude with figures of those far away.
Scarcely, however, did I ever wish to change such hours of freedom for
all the luxuries of civilized life, and, unnatural and extraordinary as
it may appear, yet such is the fascination of the life of the mountain
hunter, that I believe not one instance could be adduced of even the
most polished and civilized of men, who had once tasted the sweets
of its attendant liberty and freedom from every worldly care, not
regretting the moment when he exchanged it for the monotonous life of
the settlements, nor sighing, and sighing again, once more to partake
of its pleasures and allurements.
Nothing can be more social and cheering than the welcome blaze of
the camp-fire on a cold winter’s night, and nothing more amusing or
entertaining, if not instructive, than the rough conversation of the
single-minded mountaineers, whose simple daily talk is all of exciting
adventure, since their whole existence is spent in scenes of peril and
privation; and consequently the narration of their every-day life is
a tale of thrilling accidents and hair-breadth ’scapes, which, though
simple matter-of-fact to them, appear a startling romance to those who
are not acquainted with the nature of the lives led by these men, who,
with the sky for a roof and their rifles to supply them with food and
clothing, call no man lord or master, and are free as the game they
follow.
A hunter’s camp in the Rocky Mountains is quite a picture. He does
not always take the trouble to build any shelter unless it is in the
snow-season, when a couple of deerskins stretched over a willow frame
shelter him from the storm. At other seasons he is content with a mere
breakwind. Near at hand are two upright poles, with another supported
on the top of these, on which is displayed, out of reach of hungry
wolf or coyote, meat of every variety the mountains afford. Buffalo
dépouillés, hams of deer and mountain-sheep, beaver-tails, &c., stock
the larder. Under the shelter of the skins hang his powder-horn and
bullet-pouch; while his rifle, carefully defended from the damp, is
always within reach of his arm. Round the blazing fire the hunters
congregate at night, and whilst cleaning their rifles, making or
mending moccasins, or running bullets, spin long yarns of their hunting
exploits, &c.
Some hunters, who have married Indian squaws, carry about with them
the Indian lodge of buffalo-skins, which are stretched in a conical
form round a frame of poles. Near the camp is always seen the
“graining-block,” a log of wood with the bark stripped and perfectly
smooth, which is planted obliquely in the ground, and on which the hair
is removed from the skins to prepare them for being dressed. There are
also “stretching-frames,” on which the skins are placed to undergo
the process of dubbing, which is the removal of the flesh and fatty
particles adhering to the skin, by means of the _dubber_, an instrument
made of the stock of an elk’s horn. The last process is the “smoking,”
which is effected by digging a round hole in the ground and lighting
in it an armful of rotten wood or punk. Three sticks are then planted
round the hole, and their tops brought together and tied. The skin is
then placed on this frame, and all the holes by which the smoke might
escape carefully stopped: in ten or twelve hours the skin is thoroughly
smoked and ready for immediate use.
The camp is invariably made in a picturesque locality, for, like the
Indian, the white hunter has ever an eye to the beautiful. The broken
ground of the mountains, with their numerous tumbling and babbling
rivulets, and groves and thickets of shrubs and timber, always afford
shelter from the boisterous winds of winter, and abundance of fuel and
water. Facing the rising sun the hunter invariably erects his shanty,
with a wall of precipitous rock in rear to defend it from the gusts
which often sweep down the gorges of the mountains. Round the camp his
animals, well hobbled at night, feed within sight, for nothing does a
hunter dread more than a visit from the horse-stealing Indians; and to
be “afoot” is the acme of his misery.
AT FORT LARAMIE
FRANCIS PARKMAN
1846
From “The Oregon Trail.” Reprinted by permission of the publishers,
Little. Brown, and Company.[11]
Looking back, after the expiration of a year, upon Fort Laramie and
its inmates, they seem less like a reality than like some fanciful
picture of the olden time; so different was the scene from any which
this tamer side of the world can present. Tall Indians, enveloped in
their white buffalo-robes, were striding across the area or reclining
at full length on the low roofs of the buildings which enclosed it.
Numerous squaws, gayly bedizened, sat grouped in front of the rooms
they occupied; their mongrel offspring, restless and vociferous,
rambled in every direction through the fort; and the trappers, traders
and _engagés_ of the establishment were busy at their labor or their
amusements.
We were met at the gate, but by no means cordially welcomed. Indeed we
seemed objects of some distrust and suspicion, until Henry Chatillon
explained that we were not traders, and we, in confirmation, handed
to the _bourgeois_ a letter of introduction from his principals. He
took it, turned it upside down, and tried hard to read it; but his
literary attainments not being adequate to the task, he applied for
relief to the clerk, a sleek, smiling Frenchman, named Monthalon.
The letter read, Bordeaux (the bourgeois) seemed gradually to awaken
to a sense of what was expected of him. Though not deficient in
hospitable intentions, he was wholly unaccustomed to act as master
of ceremonies. Discarding all formalities of reception, he did not
honor us with a single word, but walked swiftly across the area, while
we followed in some admiration to a railing and a flight of steps
opposite the entrance. He signed to us that we had better fasten our
horses to the railing; then he walked up the steps, tramped along a
rude balcony, and, kicking open a door, displayed a large room, rather
more elaborately furnished than a barn. For furniture it had a rough
bedstead, but no bed, two chairs, a chest of drawers, a tin pail to
hold water, and a board to cut tobacco upon. A brass crucifix hung on
the wall, and close at hand a recent scalp, with hair full a yard long,
was suspended from a nail. I shall again have occasion to mention this
dismal trophy, its history being connected with that of our subsequent
proceedings.