TRAILS, MINERAL SPRINGS, GAME, ETC.
The principal Indian trail into the mountains from the plains to the
northeast of Pike's Peak came in by way of the Garden Ranch, through what
used to be known as Templeton's Gap. It crossed Monument Creek about a
mile above Colorado Springs, then followed up a ridge to the Mesa; then
it went southwest over the Mesa and across Camp Creek, passing just
south of the Garden of the Gods; from there it came down to the Fountain,
about a mile west of Colorado City, and there joined another trail that
came from the southeast up the east side of Fountain Creek. The latter
trail followed the east side of the Fountain from the Arkansas River,
and crossed Monument Creek just below the present Artificial Ice Plant
in Colorado Springs, from which point it ran along the north side of the
Fountain to a point just west of Colorado City, where it crossed to the
south side, then up the south side of the creek to the Manitou Springs.
From this place it went up Ruxton Creek for a few hundred yards, then
crossed over to the west side, then up the creek to a point just below
the Colorado Midland Railway bridge; thence westward up a long ravine
to its head; then in the same direction near the heads of the ravines
running into the Fountain and from a quarter to a half of a mile south
of that creek for two miles or more. The trail finally came down to
the Fountain again just below Cascade Cañon and from there led up the
Fountain to its head, where it branched off in various directions.
The trail I have described from Manitou to Cascade Cañon is the famous
old Ute Pass trail which undoubtedly had been used by various tribes of
Indians for hundreds of years before the discovery of America. We know
it was used later for many generations by the Spanish explorer, the
hunter, the trapper, and the Indian until the white settler came, and
even after that by occasional war-parties, up to the time the Indians
were driven from the State of Colorado. Marble markers were placed at
intervals along this trail by the El Paso County Pioneer Society in the
summer of 1912. This trail and those leading into it from the plains
were well-traveled roads and gave indication of long and frequent use.
Dr. Edwin James, botanist and historian of Long's expedition, who visited
the Pike's Peak region in 1820, says:
A large and much frequented road passes the springs and enters
the mountains running to the north of the high peak.
He says of the principal spring at Manitou:
The boiling spring is a large and beautiful fountain of water,
cool and transparent and aërated with carbonic acid. It rises
on the brink of a small stream which here descends from the
mountains at the point where the bed of this stream divides the
ridge of sandstone, which rests against the base of the first
granitic range. The water of the spring deposits a copious
concretion of carbonate of lime, which has accumulated on
every side, until it has formed a large basin overhanging the
stream, above which it rises several feet. The basin is of snowy
whiteness and large enough to contain three or four hundred
gallons, and is constantly overflowing. The spring rises from
the bottom of the basin with a rumbling noise, discharging
about equal volumes of air and of water, probably about fifty
gallons per minute, the whole kept in constant agitation. The
water is beautifully transparent, has a sparkling appearance,
the grateful taste and exhilarating effect of the most highly
aërated artificial mineral water.
In the bottom of the spring a great number of beads and
other small articles of Indian adornment were found, having
unquestionably been left there as a sacrifice or present to
the springs, which are regarded with a sort of veneration by
the savages. Bijeau, our guide, assured us he had repeatedly
taken beads and other adornments from these springs and sold
them to the same savages who had thrown them in.
Mr. Rufus B. Sage, who describes himself as a New Englander, after passing
through this region in 1842, published a book giving his experiences and
observations. In speaking of the Fontaine qui Bouille Creek, now known
as the Fountain and of the Manitou Springs, he says:
This name is derived from two singular springs situated within
a few yards of each other at the creek's head, both of which
emit water in the form of vapor, with a hissing noise; one
strongly impregnated with sulphur and the other with soda. The
soda water is fully as good as any manufactured for special
use and sparkles and foams with equal effervescence. The
Arapahoes regard this phenomenon with awe, and venerate it as
the manifestation of the immediate presence of the Great Spirit.
They call it the "Medicine Fountain" and seldom neglect to
bestow their gifts upon it whenever an opportunity is presented.
These offerings usually consist of robes, blankets, arrows,
bows, knives, beads, moccasins, etc., which they either throw
into the water, or hang upon the surrounding trees.
Sometimes a whole village will visit the place for the purpose
of paying their united regard to this sacred fountain.
The scenery in the vicinity is truly magnificent. A valley
several hundred yards in width heads at the springs, and
overlooking it from the west in almost perpendicular ascent
tower the lofty summits of Pike's Peak, piercing the clouds
and reveling in eternal snow. This valley opens eastward and
is walled in at the right and left at the mountain's base by
a stretch of high table-land surmounted by oaks and stately
pines, with now and then an interval displaying a luxuriant
coating of grass. The soil is a reddish loam and very rich.
The trees, which skirt the creek as it traces its way from
the fountain, are generally free from underbrush, and show
almost as much regularity of position as if planted by the
hand of art. A lusty growth of vegetation is sustained among
them to their very trunks, which is garnished by wild flowers
during the summer months, that invest the whole scene with an
enchantment peculiar to itself.
The climate, too, is far milder in this than in adjoining
regions, even of a more southern latitude. "'Tis here summer
first unfolds her robes, and here the longest tarries"; the
grass, continuing green the entire winter, here first feels the
genial touch of spring. Snow seldom remains upon the ground to
exceed a single day, even in the severest weather, while the
neighboring hills and prairies present their white mantlings
for weeks in succession.
As the creek emerges from the mountains, it increases in
size by the accession of several tributaries, and the valley
also expands, retaining for a considerable distance the
distinguishing traces above described.
The vicinity affords an abundance of game, among which are deer,
sheep, bear, antelope, elk, and buffalo, together with turkeys,
geese, ducks, grouse, mountain fowls, and rabbits. Affording
as it does such magnificent and delightful scenery, such rich
stores for the supply of human wants both to please the taste
and enrapture the heart; so heavenlike in its appearance and
character, it is no wonder the untaught savage reveres it as a
place wherein the Good Spirit delights to dwell, and hastens
with his free-will offerings to the strange fountain, in the
full belief that its bubbling waters are the more immediate
impersonation of Him whom he adores.
And there are other scenes adjoining this that demand a passing
notice. A few miles from the springs, and running parallel
with the eastern base of the mountain range, several hundred
yards removed from it, a wall of coarse, red granite towers
to a varied height of from fifty to three hundred feet. This
wall is formed of an immense strata planted vertically. This
mural tier is isolated and occupies its prairie site in silent
majesty, as if to guard the approach to the stupendous monuments
of Nature's handiwork, that form the background, disclosing
itself to the beholder for a distance of over thirty miles.
Lieut. John C. Frémont, who visited the springs in 1843, while on his
second expedition, was just as enthusiastic about them. He says:
On the morning of the 16th of July we resumed our journey.
Our direction was up the Boiling Springs River, it being my
intention to visit the celebrated springs from which the river
takes its name, and which are on its upper waters at the foot
of Pike's Peak.
Our animals fared well while we were on this stream, there
being everywhere a great abundance of grass. Beautiful clusters
of flowering plants were numerous, and wild currants, nearly
ripe, were abundant. On the afternoon of the 17th, we entered
among the broken ridges at the foot of the mountain, where
the river made several forks.
Leaving the camp to follow slowly, I rode ahead in the
afternoon, in search of the springs. In the meantime, the
clouds, which had been gathering all the afternoon over the
mountains, began to roll down their sides, and a storm so
violent burst upon me that it appeared I had entered the store
house of the thunder storms. I continued, however, to ride
along up the river until about sunset, and was beginning to
be doubtful of finding the springs before the next day, when
I came suddenly upon a large, smooth rock about twenty feet in
diameter, where the water from several springs was bubbling and
boiling up in the midst of a white encrustation, with which it
had covered a portion of the rock. As it did not correspond
with the description given me by the hunters, I did not stop
to taste the water, but dismounting, walked a little way up
the river, and passing through a narrow thicket of shrubbery
bordering the stream, stepped directly upon a huge, white rock
at the foot of which the river, already becoming a torrent,
foamed along, broken by a small fall.
A deer which had been drinking at the spring was startled by
my approach, and springing across the river bounded off up the
mountain. In the upper part of the rock, which had been formed
by the deposition, was a beautiful, white basin overhung by
currant bushes, in which the cold, clear water bubbled up,
kept in constant motion by the escaping gas, and overflowing
the rock which it had almost entirely covered with a smooth
crust of glistening white.
I had all day refrained from drinking, reserving myself for
the springs, and as I could not well be more wet than the rain
had already made me, I lay down by the side of the basin and
drank heartily of the delightful water.
As it was now beginning to grow dark, I rode quickly down the
river on which I found the camp a few miles below. The morning
of the 18th was beautiful and clear, and all of the people
being anxious to drink of these famous waters, we encamped
immediately at the springs and spent there a very pleasant day.
On the opposite side of the river is another locality of
springs which are entirely of the same nature. The water has
a very agreeable taste, which Mr. Preuss found very much to
resemble that of the famous Selter spring in the Grand Duchy
of Nassau, a country famous for wine and mineral waters.
Resuming our journey on the morning of the 19th, we descended
the river, in order to reach the mouth of the eastern fork
which I proposed to ascend. The left bank of the river is here
very much broken. There is a handsome little bottom on the
right, and both banks are exceedingly picturesque, a stratum
of red rock in nearly perpendicular walls, crossing the valley
from north to south.
Lieut. George F. Ruxton, an officer of the British Army, who was seeking
the restoration of his health by roughing it in the Rocky Mountains,
camped at the Manitou Springs for a number of months in the early part
of 1847.
Writing of his trip from Pueblo up the Fontaine qui Bouille in the month
of March of that year, and of his stay at the springs afterwards, he says:
The further I advanced up the creek and the nearer the
mountains, the more advanced was the vegetation. As yet,
however, the cottonwoods and the larger trees in the bottom
showed no signs of life, and the currant and cherry bushes
still looked dry and sapless. The thickets, however, were filled
with birds and resounded with their songs, and the plains were
alive with prairie dogs, busy in repairing their houses and
barking lustily as I rode through their towns. Turkeys, too,
were calling in the timber, and the boom of the prairie fowl
at rise and set of sun was heard on every side. The snow had
entirely disappeared from the plains, but Pike's Peak and the
mountains were still clad in white.
On my way I met a band of hunters who had been driven in by
a party of Arapahoes who were encamped on the eastern fork of
the Fontaine qui Bouille [Monument Creek]. They strongly urged
me to return, as, being alone, I could not fail to be robbed
of my animals, if not killed myself. However, in pursuance of
my fixed rule never to stop on account of Indians, I proceeded
up the river and camped on the first fork for a day or two,
hunting in the mountains. I then moved up the main fork on
which I had been directed by the hunters to proceed, in order
to visit the far famed springs, from which the creek takes its
name. I followed a very good lodge-pole trail which struck the
creek before entering the broken country, being that used by
the Utes and Arapahoes on their way to the Bayou Salado. Here
the valley narrowed considerably, and turning an angle with
the creek, I was at once shut in by mountains and elevated
ridges which rose on each side of the stream. This was now a
rapid torrent tumbling over the rocks and stones and fringed
with oak and a shrubbery of brush. A few miles on, the cañon
opened into a little shelving glade and on the right bank of
the stream, raised several feet above it, was a flat, white
rock, in which was a round hole where one of the celebrated
springs hissed and bubbled with its escaping gas. I had been
cautioned against drinking this, being directed to follow the
stream a few yards to another, which is the true soda spring.
I had not only abstained from drinking that day, but with the
aid of a handful of salt, which I had brought with me for the
purpose, had so highly seasoned my breakfast of venison, that
I was in a most satisfactory state of thirst. I therefore
proceeded at once to the other spring, and found it about forty
yards from the first and immediately above the river, issuing
from a little basin in the flat, white rock, and trickling over
the edge into the stream. The escape of gas in this was much
stronger than in the other, and was similar to water boiling
smartly.
I had provided myself with a tin cup holding about a pint, but
before dipping it in I divested myself of my pouch and belt,
and sat down in order to enjoy the draught at my leisure. I
was half dead with thirst, and tucking up the sleeves of my
hunting shirt, I dipped the cup into the midst of the bubbles
and raised it, hissing and sparkling, to my lips. Such a
draught! Three times without drawing a breath was it replenished
and emptied, almost blowing up the roof of my mouth with its
effervescence. It was equal to the very best soda water, but
possesses that fresh, natural flavor which manufactured water
cannot impart.
The Indians regard with awe the medicine waters of these
fountains, as being the abode of a Spirit who breathes through
the transparent water, and thus by his exhalations causes
the perturbation of its surface. The Arapahoes especially
attribute to this water god, the power of ordaining the success
or miscarriage of their war expeditions, and as their braves
pass often by the mysterious springs when in search of their
hereditary enemies, the Utes, in the "Valley of Salt," they
never fail to bestow their votive offerings upon the water
sprite, in order to propitiate the Manitou of the fountain
and insure a fortunate issue to their path of war. Thus at
the time of my visit, the basin of the spring was filled with
beads and wampum and pieces of red cloth and knives, while
the surrounding trees were hung with strips of deer skin,
cloth, and moccasins; to which, had they been serviceable, I
would most sacrilegiously have helped myself. The signs, too,
around the spring, plainly showed that here a war dance had
been executed by the braves, and I was not a little pleased
to find that they had already been here and were not likely
to return the same way; but in this supposition I was quite
astray.
The large spring referred to by Dr. James, Sage, Frémont, Ruxton, and
the other writers whom I have quoted, is the one now enclosed and used
by the bottling works at Manitou. Ruxton says the two springs were
intimately connected with the separation of the Comanche and the Snake,
or Ute tribes, and he gives the following legend concerning the beginning
of the trouble:
Many hundreds of winters ago, when the cottonwoods on the Big
River were no higher than an arrow, and the red men, who hunted
the buffalo on the plains, all spoke the same language, and the
pipe of peace breathed its social cloud of kinnikinnik whenever
two parties of hunters met on the boundless plains—when,
with hunting grounds and game of every kind in the greatest
abundance, no nation dug up the hatchet with another because
one of its hunters followed the game into their bounds, but,
on the contrary, loaded for him his back with choice and
fattest meat, and ever proffered the soothing pipe before
the stranger, with well-filled belly, left the village,—it
happened that two hunters of different nations met one day
on a small rivulet, where both had repaired to quench their
thirst. A little stream of water, rising from a spring on a
rock within a few feet of the bank, trickled over it and fell
splashing into the river. To this the hunters repaired; and
while one sought the spring itself, where the water, cold and
clear, reflected on its surface the image of the surrounding
scenery, the other, tired by his exertions in the chase, threw
himself at once to the ground and plunged his face into the
running stream.
The latter had been unsuccessful in the chase, and perhaps his
bad fortune and the sight of the fat deer, which the other
hunter threw from his back before he drank at the crystal
spring, caused a feeling of jealousy and ill-humour to take
possession of his mind. The other, on the contrary, before
he satisfied his thirst, raised in the hollow of his hand a
portion of the water, and, lifting it towards the sun, reversed
his hand and allowed it to fall upon the ground,—a libation
to the Great Spirit who had vouchsafed him a successful hunt,
and the blessing of the refreshing water with which he was
about to quench his thirst.
Seeing this, and being reminded that he had neglected the usual
offering, only increased the feeling of envy and annoyance
which the unsuccessful hunter permitted to get the mastery
of his heart; and the Evil Spirit at that moment entering his
body, his temper fairly flew away, and he sought some pretense
by which to provoke a quarrel with the stranger Indian at the
spring.
"Why does a stranger," he asked, rising from the stream at
the same time, "drink at the spring-head, when one to whom
the fountain belongs contents himself with the water that runs
from it?"
"The Great Spirit places the cool water at the spring," answered
the other hunter, "that his children may drink it pure and
undefiled. The running water is for the beasts which scour the
plains. Au-sa-qua is a chief of the Shos-shone; he drinks at
the head water."
"The Shos-shone is but a tribe of the Comanche," returned the
other; "Waco-mish leads the grand nation. Why does a Shos-shone
dare to drink above him?"
"He has said it. The Shos-shone drinks at the spring-head; other
nations of the stream which runs into the fields. Au-sa-qua
is chief of his nation. The Comanche are brothers. Let them
both drink of the same water."
"The Shos-shone pays tribute to the Comanche. Waco-mish leads
that nation to war. Waco-mish is chief of the Shos-shone, as
he is of his own people."
"Waco-mish lies; his tongue is forked like the rattlesnake's;
his heart is black as the Misho-tunga [bad spirit]. When the
Manitou made his children, whether Shos-shone or Comanche,
Arapahoe, Shi-an, or Pā-né, he gave them buffalo to eat, and
the pure water of the fountain to quench their thirst. He said
not to one, Drink here, and to another, Drink there; but gave
the crystal spring to all, that all might drink."
Waco-mish almost burst with rage as the other spoke; but his
coward heart alone prevented him from provoking an encounter
with the calm Shos-shone. _He_, made thirsty by the words he had
spoken—for the red man is ever sparing of his tongue—again
stooped down to the spring to quench his thirst, when the
subtle warrior of the Comanche suddenly threw himself upon
the kneeling hunter, and, forcing his head into the bubbling
water, held him down with all his strength, until his victim
no longer struggled, his stiffened limbs relaxed, and he fell
forward over the spring, drowned and dead.
Over the body stood the murderer, and no sooner was the deed
of blood consummated than bitter remorse took possession of
his mind, where before had reigned the fiercest passion and
vindictive hate. With hands clasped to his forehead, he stood
transfixed with horror, intently gazing on his victim, whose
head still remained immersed in the fountain. Mechanically he
dragged the body a few paces from the water, which, as soon
as the head of the dead Indian was withdrawn, the Comanche
saw suddenly and strangely disturbed. Bubbles sprang up from
the bottom, and rising to the surface, escaped in hissing
gas. A thin vapoury cloud arose, and gradually dissolving,
displayed to the eyes of the trembling murderer the figure of
an aged Indian, whose long, snowy hair and venerable beard,
blown aside by a gentle air from his breast, discovered the
well-known totem of the great Wan-kan-aga, the father of the
Comanche and Shos-shone nation, whom the tradition of the
tribe, handed down by skillful hieroglyphics, almost deified
for the good actions and deeds of bravery this famous warrior
had performed when on earth.
Stretching out a war-club towards the affrighted murderer,
the figure thus addressed him:
"Accursed of my tribe! this day thou hast severed the link
between the mightiest nations of the world, while the blood of
the brave Shos-shone cries to the Manitou for vengeance. May
the water of thy tribe be rank and bitter in their throats."
Thus saying, and swinging his ponderous war-club (made from
the elk's horn) round his head, he dashed out the brains of
the Comanche, who fell headlong into the spring, which, from
that day to the present moment, remains rank and nauseous, so
that not even when half dead with thirst, can one drink the
foul water of that spring.
The good Wan-kan-aga, however, to perpetuate the memory of the
Shos-shone warrior, who was renowned in his tribe for valour
and nobleness of heart, struck, with the same avenging club, a
hard, flat rock which overhung the rivulet, just out of sight
of this scene of blood; and forthwith the rock opened into
a round, clear basin, which instantly filled with bubbling,
sparkling water, than which no thirsty hunter ever drank a
sweeter or a cooler draught.
Thus the two springs remain, an everlasting memento of the foul
murder of the brave Shos-shone, and the stern justice of the
good Wan-kan-aga; and from that day the two mighty tribes of
the Shos-shone and Comanche have remained severed and apart;
although a long and bloody war followed the treacherous murder
of the Shos-shone chief, and many a scalp torn from the head
of the Comanche paid the penalty of his death.
In telling of the great quantities of game in this region, Ruxton says:
Never was there such a paradise for hunters as this lone and
solitary spot.
Game abounded on every hand. Bear, elk, deer, mountain sheep, antelope,
and grouse were in abundance in the surrounding mountains and valleys.
Of buffalo there were few except in the valleys west of Pike's Peak and
in the Bayou Salado, or South Park, as it is now known.
Ruxton further says:
It is a singular fact that within the last two years the
prairies, extending from the mountains to one hundred miles
or more down the Arkansas, have been entirely abandoned by
the buffalo; indeed, in crossing from the settlements of New
Mexico, the boundary of their former range is marked by skulls
and bones, which appear fresher as the traveler advances
westward and towards the waters of the Platte.
The evidences that Ruxton here mentions were still apparent twelve or
fourteen years later, when the first settlers of this region arrived.
Buffalo skulls and bones were scattered everywhere over the plains, but
live buffalo could seldom be found nearer than one hundred miles east
of the mountains.
The reason for this has been variously stated, some claiming that a
contagious disease broke out among the buffalo in the early forties, which
virtually exterminated those along the eastern base of the mountains.
Others say that about that time there was a tremendous snowfall in the
early part of the winter which covered the whole country along the eastern
base of the mountains to a depth of six to eight feet, and that as a
result all the buffalo within the region of the snowfall starved to death
during the following winter. It is very possible that the latter reason
may have been the true one, as a heavy fall of snow in the early part of
the winter is not unknown. In the winter of 1864-1865 the antelope of
this region nearly starved to death, owing to a two-foot fall of snow,
on the last day of October and the first day of November, 1864, which
covered the ground to a considerable depth for most of the winter.
While it is true that there were no buffalo in this immediate region at
the time Ruxton was here, nor afterwards, it is well-known that they
had been fairly plentiful in earlier years. Lieutenant Pike tells of
killing five buffalo the day he reached the present site of Pueblo in
1806, and a day or two afterwards he killed three more on Turkey Creek,
about twenty miles south of where Colorado Springs now stands, and saw
others while climbing the mountains in his attempt to reach the "high
point," as he calls it, now known as Pike's Peak.
In 1820, Long's expedition, on its way from Platte Cañon, killed several
buffalo on Monument Creek, a few miles south of the Divide; and later,
while camped on the Fountain a short distance below the site of the
present city of Colorado Springs, killed several more.
Sage says that in 1842, during a five days' stay at Jimmy's Camp (ten
miles east of the present city of Colorado Springs), he "killed three
fine buffalo cows."
After Ruxton had been camped near Manitou Springs for two or three weeks,
while out hunting one day, he ran across an Indian camp, which startled
him very much. No Indians were in sight at the time, but later he got a
glimpse of two carrying in a deer which they had killed. The next morning
Ruxton concluded that as a matter of safety, he had better remove his
camp to some more secluded spot. The following day a fire was started
on the side of the mountain to the south of the springs, which rapidly
spread in every direction. He says:
I had from the first no doubt that the fire was caused by the
Indians who had probably discovered my animals, and thinking
that a large party of hunters might be out, had taken advantage
of a favorable wind to set fire to the grass, hoping to secure
the horses and mules in the confusion, without risk of attacking
the camp.
In order to be out of reach of the fire, Ruxton moved his camp down the
Fontaine qui Bouille six or seven miles. He says:
All this time the fire was spreading out on the prairies. It
extended at least five miles on the left bank of the creek
and on the right was more slowly creeping up the mountainside,
while the brush and timber in the bottom was one mass of flame.
Besides the long, sweeping line of the advancing flame the
plateaus on the mountainside and within the line were burning
in every direction as the squalls and eddies down the gullies
drove the fire to all points. The mountains themselves being
invisible, the air from the low ground where I then was,
appeared a mass of fire, and huge crescents of flame danced as
it were in the very sky, until a mass of timber blazing at once
exhibited the somber background of the stupendous mountains.
The fire extended towards the waters of the Platte upwards of forty
miles, and for fourteen days its glare was visible on the Arkansas River
fifty miles distant.
The testimony of Ruxton bears out information I have from other
sources, that a large portion of the great areas of dead timber on
the mountainsides of this region is the result of fires started by the
various Indian tribes in their wanderings to and fro. Old trappers say
that the Utes frequently went out upon the plains on horse-stealing
expeditions; that when they had located a camp of their enemies, they
would stealthily creep in among their ponies in the night, round them up,
and start off towards the mountains with as many as they could hastily
gather together. They were sure to be pursued the following morning when
the raid had been discovered, and often the Utes with the stolen herd
would find their pursuers close after them by the time they reached the
mountains. In that case, they knew that if they followed up Ute Pass
they were likely to be overtaken, but by crossing over the northern
point of Cheyenne Mountain and on to the west along a trail that ran not
very far distant from the route now followed by the Cripple Creek Short
Line, they could much more easily elude their pursuers. If, when west of
Cheyenne Mountain the Utes found their enemies gaining upon them, they
would start a timber fire to cover their retreat. These fires would,
of course, spread indefinitely and ruin immense tracts of timber. This
is doubtless one of the principal reasons why our mountainsides are so
nearly denuded of their original growth of trees. These horse-stealing
raids were no uncommon occurrence. Colonel Dodge, in his book _Our Wild
Indians_, tells of one made by the Utes in 1874, which was daring as
well as successful. He says:
A mixed band of some fifteen hundred Sioux and Cheyennes,
hunting in 1874, went well up on the headwaters of the
Republican River in search of buffalo. The Utes found them out
and a few warriors slipped into their camp during the night,
stampeded their ponies at daylight, and in spite of the hot
pursuit of the Sioux, reached the mountains with over two
hundred head.
Ruxton frequently mentions the Ute Pass, and states that it was the
principal line of travel to and from the South Park for all the Indian
tribes of this region at the time of his arrival, as well as previous
thereto.
There was another much-used trail into the South Park which entered the
mountains near the present town of Cañon City. It led in a northwesterly
direction from the latter place, and reached the South Park proper near
Hartsell Hot Springs. This route was used by the Indians occupying the
country along the Arkansas River and to the south of it. In addition
to the two principal trails, there were others of lesser note, as, for
example, that over the north end of Cheyenne Mountain, and one west of
the present town of Monument; but these were difficult and were not used
to any great extent.
In 1806, Lieutenant Pike attempted to lead his exploring expedition
over the Cañon City trail, but evidently had a very poor guide, and,
as a result, lost his way very soon after leaving the Arkansas River.
They wandered about through the low mountains west of the present mining
camp of Cripple Creek, and finally reached the Platte near the west end
of Eleven-Mile Cañon where the river emerges from the South Park. He
mentions having found near that point a recently abandoned Indian camp
which he estimates must have been occupied by at least three thousand
Indians.
Thomas J. Farnham, on his way to Oregon in 1839, passed through the South
Park, reaching it from the Arkansas River by the trail already described.
He tells of his trip, in a rudely bound little book of minutely fine
print, published in 1843. In recounting his journey from the Arkansas
River to the South Park, he frequently mentions James Peak as being
to the east of the route he was traveling. Previously, when encamped
on the Arkansas River, below the mouth of the Fontaine qui Bouille, he
speaks of the latter stream as heading in James Peak, eighty miles to
the northwest; he also states that one of the branches of the Huerfano
originates in Pike's Peak, seventy to eighty miles to the south. This
brings to mind the fact that previous to about 1840 the peak that we
now know as Pike's Peak was known as James Peak. Major S. H. Long, who
was in command of the expedition that explored the Pike's Peak region in
1820, gave it this name in honor of Dr. James, who is supposed to have
been the first white man to ascend it. After about 1840, this name was
gradually dropped and Pike's Peak was substituted.
Farnham was very much pleased with the South Park, and says of it, after
describing its streams, valleys, and rocky ridges:
This is a bird's-eye view of Bayou Salado, so named from the
circumstance that native rock salt is found in some parts of
it. We were in the central portion of it. To the north and
south and west its isolated plains rise one above another,
always beautiful and covered with verdure during the months of
spring and summer. A sweet spot this, for the romance of the
future as well as of the present and past. The buffalo have for
ages resorted here about the last days of July from the arid
plains of the Arkansas and the Platte; and hither the Utes,
Cheyennes and Arapahoes, Black Feet, Crows and Sioux of the
north, have for ages met and hunted and fought and loved, and
when their battles and hunts were interrupted by the chills
and snows of November, they separated for their several winter
resorts.
How wild and beautiful the past, as it comes up fledged with
the rich plumage of the imagination! These vales, studded
with a thousand villages of conical skin wigwams, with their
thousands of fires blazing on the starry brow of night! I see
the dusky forms crouching around the glowing piles of ignited
logs, in family groups, whispering the dreams of their rude
love, or gathered around the stalwart form of some noble chief
at the hour of midnight, listening to the harangue of vengeance
or the whoop of war that is to cast the deadly arrow with the
first gleam of morning light.
Or, may we not see them gathered, a circle of old braves,
around an aged tree, surrounded each by the musty trophies
of half a century's daring deeds. The eldest and richest in
scalps rises from the center of the ring and advances to the
tree. Hear him!
"Fifty winters ago when the seventh moon's first horn hung
over the green forests of the Ute hills, myself and five others
erected a lodge for the Great Spirit on the snows of the White
Butte and carried there our wampum and skins, and the hide
of a white buffalo. We hung them in the Great Spirit's lodge
and seated ourselves in silence till the moon had descended
the western mountain, and thought of the blood of our fathers
that the Comanches had killed when the moon was round and
lay on the eastern plains. My own father was scalped, and the
fathers of five others were scalped, and their bloody heads
were gnawed by the wolf. We could not live while our father's
lodges were empty and the scalps of their murderers were not
in the lodges of our mothers. Our hearts told us to make these
offerings to the Great Spirit who had fostered them on the
mountains, and when the moon was down and the shadows of the
White Butte were as dark as the hair of a bear, we said to the
Great Spirit: 'No man can war with the arrows from the quiver
of thy storms. No man's word can be heard when thy voice is
among the clouds. No man's hand is strong when thy hand lets
loose the wind. The wolf gnaws the heads of our fathers and
the scalps of their murderers hang not in the lodges of our
mothers. Great Father Spirit, send not thine anger out. Hold
in thy hand the winds. Let not thy great voice drown the death
yell while we hunt the murderers of our fathers.' I and the
five others then built in the middle of the lodge a fire, and
in its bright light the Great Spirit saw the wampum and the
skins and the white buffalo hide. Five days and nights I and
five others danced and smoked the medicine and beat the board
with sticks and chanted away the powers of the great Medicine
Men, that they might not be evil to us and bring sickness into
our bones. Then when the stars were shining in the clear sky,
we swore (I must not tell what, for it was in the ear of the
Great Spirit), and went out of the lodge with our bosoms full
of anger against the murderers of our fathers whose bones were
in the jaws of the wolf and went for their scalps, to hang
them in the lodges of our mothers." See him strike the aged
tree with his war-club; again, again, nine times. "So many
Comanches did I slay, the murderers of my father, before the
moon was round again and lay upon the eastern plains."
Farnham, continuing, says:
This is not merely an imaginary scene of former times in the
Bayou Salado. All the essential incidents related happened
yearly in that and other hunting-grounds, whenever the old
braves assembled to celebrate valorous deeds of their younger
days. When these exciting relations were finished, the young
men of the tribe who had not yet distinguished themselves were
exhorted to seek glory in a similar way; and woe to him who
passed his manhood without ornamenting the door of his lodge
with the scalps of his enemies.
This valley is still frequented by these Indians as a summer
haunt, when the heat of the plains renders them uncomfortable.
The Utes were scouring it when we passed. Our guide informed
us that the Utes reside on both sides of the mountains,—that
they are continually migrating from one side to the other,—that
they speak the Spanish language,—that some few half-breeds
have embraced the Catholic faith,—that the remainder yet
hold the simple and sublime faith of their forefathers, in
the existence of one great, creating, and sustaining Cause,
mingled with the belief in the ghostly visitations of their
deceased Medicine Men, or Diviners;—that they number one
thousand families.
He also stated that the Cheyennes were less brave and more
thievish than any of the other tribes living on the plains.
Farnham's description of the incantations practiced by the Utes is in the
main probably true; the information on which it was based was doubtless
obtained from his guide.
Ruxton tells of the use of the trail west of the present town of Monument
by a war-party of Arapahoes on their way to the South Park to fight the
Utes. In the night the band had surprised a small company of trappers
on the head of Bijou Creek, killing four of them and capturing all of
their horses. The following morning two of the trappers, one of whom
was slightly wounded, started in pursuit of the Indians, intending if
possible to recover their animals. They followed the trail of the Indians
to a point in the neighborhood of the present town of Monument where
they found that the band had divided, the larger party, judging from the
direction taken, evidently intending to enter the mountains by way of
Ute Pass. The other party, having all the loose animals, started across
the mountains by the pass to the west of Monument, probably hoping to
get the better of the Utes by coming in from two different directions.
The trappers followed the latter party across the first mountains where
they found their stolen animals in charge of three Indians. The trappers
surprised and killed all three of them, recaptured their animals, and
then hurried on to the Utes, giving such timely warning as enabled them
to defeat the Arapahoes in a very decisive manner.
The battles in the South Park and on the plains between the contending
tribes were seldom of a very sanguinary nature. If the attacking Indians
happened to find their enemies on level ground, they would circle around
them just out of gunshot at first, gradually coming closer, all the time
lying on the outside and shooting from under the necks of their ponies.
These ponies were generally the best that the tribe afforded and were
not often used except for purposes of war. While engaged in battle, the
Indians seldom used saddles, and in place of bridles had merely a piece
of plaited buffalo-hide rope, tied around the under jaw of the pony. If
the defending party was located in a fairly good defensive position, the
battle consisted of groups of the attacking party dashing in, firing,
and then dashing out again. This was kept up until a few warriors had
been killed or wounded and a few scalps had been taken; then the battle
was over, one side or the other retreating. With an Indian, it was a
waste of time to kill an enemy unless his scalp was taken, as that was
the evidence necessary to prove the prowess of the warrior. Engagements
of the kind I have mentioned have occurred in almost every valley in
and around the South Park at some time during the hundreds of years of
warfare that was carried on in that region.
Frémont, on his return trip from California, during his second exploring
expedition, crossed the Rocky Mountains by way of Middle Park, then
across South Park, reaching the Arkansas River near the present town of
Cañon City. On his way through the South Park he witnessed one of these
battles, in describing which he says:
In the evening a band of buffalo furnished a little excitement
by charging through our camp. On the following day we descended
the stream by an excellent buffalo trail along the open grassy
bottom of the river. On our right, the Bayou was bordered by
a mountainous range crested with rocky and naked peaks, and
below it had a beautiful parklike character of pretty, level
prairies, interspersed among low spurs, wooded openly with
pine and quaking aspens, contrasting well with the denser
pines which swept around on the mountainous sides. Descending
always the valley of the stream, towards noon we descried a
mounted party descending the point of a spur, and judging them
to be Arapahoes—who, defeated or victorious, were equally
dangerous to us, and with whom a fight would be inevitable—we
hurried to post ourselves as strongly as possible on some
willow islands in the river. We had scarcely halted when they
arrived, proving to be a party of Ute women, who told us that
on the other side of the ridge their village was fighting with
the Arapahoes. As soon as they had given us this information,
they filled the air with cries and lamentations, which made
us understand that some of their chiefs had been killed.
Extending along the river directly ahead of us was a low piny
ridge, leaving between it and the stream a small open bottom
on which the Utes had very injudiciously placed their village,
which, according to the women, numbered about three hundred
warriors. Advancing in the cover of the pines, the Arapahoes,
about daylight, charged into the village, driving off a great
number of their horses, and killing four men, among them the
principal chief of the village. They drove the horses perhaps
a mile beyond the village to the end of a hollow where they
had previously forted at the edge of the pines. Here the Utes
had instantly attacked them in turn, and, according to the
report of the women, were getting rather the best of the day.
The women pressed us eagerly to join with their people, and
would immediately have provided us with the best horses at the
village, but it was not for us to interfere in such a conflict.
Neither party were our friends or under our protection, and
each was ready to prey upon us that could. But we could not
help feeling an unusual excitement at being within a few hundred
yards of a fight in which five hundred men were closely engaged,
and hearing the sharp cracks of their rifles. We were in a
bad position and subject to be attacked in it. Either party
which we might meet, victorious or defeated, was certain to
fall upon us, and gearing up immediately, we kept close along
the pines of the ridge, having it between us and the village,
and keeping the scouts on the summit to give us notice of the
approach of the Indians. As we passed by the village which was
immediately below us, horsemen were galloping to and fro, and
groups of people were gathered around those who were wounded
and dead and who were being brought in from the field.
We continued to press on, and crossing another fork which came
in from the right, after having made fifteen miles from the
village, fortified ourselves strongly in the pines a short
distance from the river.
During the afternoon Pike's Peak had been plainly in view before
us and from our encampment bore north 87° east by compass.
This was a familiar object, and it had for us the face of an
old friend. At its foot were the springs where we had spent
a pleasant day in coming out.
In 1859, a battle between the Utes on the one side, and the Cheyennes,
Arapahoes, and Sioux on the other, was fought six miles north of Colorado
City, in the valley now occupied by the Modern Woodmen's Home. There
were several hundred warriors on each side and the battle was of unusual
duration, continuing for almost an entire day. The Utes were finally
victorious and drove their enemies back to the plains.
Until 1864, every spring after the white settlers came into this region,
war-parties of Cheyennes, Arapahoes, and Sioux would come trailing in
from the plains, pass through Colorado City, stopping long enough to
beg food from the families living near the line of their march and then
go on to the soda springs; here they would tarry long enough to make
an offering to the Great Spirit who was supposed to be manifest in the
bubbling waters, and then follow, in single file, up the Ute Pass trail
into the South Park, where they would scout around until they had found
a band of Utes. If they succeeded in surprising the latter, they would
probably come back with a lot of extra ponies and sometimes with captured
squaws and children, in which case they would exhibit a jubilant air;
but at other times on their return, they would present such a dejected
appearance that one could readily surmise that they had suffered defeat.
These annual visits were discontinued after the tribes became involved
in warfare with the whites.
Referring again to the mineral springs at Manitou, I quote from Col. R.
B. Marcy, of the United States Army, who, with his command, camped there
during the whole of the month of April, 1858. He tells not only of the
springs and the game of that neighborhood, but of a frightful snowstorm
that delayed them, near Eastonville in El Paso County, for several days
at the beginning of the following month. He says:
Having accomplished the objects of my mission to New Mexico,
by procuring animals and other supplies sufficient to enable
the troops at Fort Bridger to make an early march into Salt
Lake Valley, I, on the 15th day of March, left Fort Union on
my return for Utah, intending to pass around the eastern base
of the mountains near Pike's Peak and the headwaters of the
Arkansas and Platte rivers, following the Cherokee trail from
the Cache la Poudre. The command was well organized, and we made
rapid progress for about two hundred and fifty miles, when,
on the 27th of March, I received an order from the General
in Command in New Mexico, to halt and await reinforcements.
I was obliged to obey the order and went into camp upon the
headwaters of a small tributary of the Arkansas, called Fontaine
qui Bouille, directly at the foot of Pike's Peak and near a
very peculiar spring which gives the name to the stream.
This beautiful fountain issues from the center of a basin,
or rather bowl, about six feet in diameter, and throws out a
column of water near the size of a man's arm. The receptacle,
which is constantly filled but never runs over, seems to have
been formed by the deposit of salts from the water, and is
as perfectly symmetrical and round as if it had been cut out
with a chisel. As the fountain is constantly playing and never
overflows, it of course has a subterranean outlet. The most
remarkable feature, however, in the Fontaine qui Bouille, is
the peculiar taste of the water. It is pungent and sparkling
and somewhat similar in taste to the water from the Congress
spring at Saratoga, but sweeter, and to my palate pleasanter.
We drank it every day in large quantities without perceiving
any ill effect from it, and the men made use of it instead of
yeast in raising their bread, which induced the belief that
it contained soda or some other alkali.
The Indians believe it to possess some mysterious powers, the
purport of which I could not learn, but there were a great
many arrows, pieces of cloth, and other articles that they
had deposited in the spring, probably as an offering to the
Big Medicine Genius that presided over it. We remained at
this place a month, during which time we amused ourselves in
hunting elk, mountain sheep, and blacktail deer, all of which
were very abundant in the surrounding country, and our larder
was constantly supplied with the most delicious game.
[Illustration: Ouray
Chief of the Utes]
I remember that one morning just at daybreak, I was awakened
by my servant, who told me there was a large herd of elk in
close proximity to the camp. I ran out as soon as possible and
saw at least five hundred of these magnificent animals, drawn
up in line like a troop of cavalry horses, with their heads
all turned in the same direction, and from the crest of a high
projecting cliff, looking in apparent wonder and bewilderment
directly down upon us. It was to me a most novel and interesting
spectacle. The noise made in the camp soon frightened them,
however, and they started for the mountains. They were pursued
for some distance by our hunters, who succeeded in killing
six before they escaped.
On the 30th day of April, our reinforcements having joined us,
we gladly resumed our march for Utah, and at about one o'clock
encamped upon the ridge that divides the Arkansas from the
Platte rivers. The day was bright, cheerful, and pleasant, the
atmosphere soft, balmy, and delightful. The fresh grass was
about six inches high. The trees had put forth their new leaves
and all nature conspired in giving evidence that the somber garb
of winter had been cast aside for the more verdant and smiling
attire of spring. Our large herds of animals were turned out
to graze upon the tender and nutritious grass that everywhere
abounded. Our men were enjoying their social jokes and pastimes
after the fatigues of the day's march and everything indicated
contentment and happiness. This pleasant state of things lasted
until near sunset, when the wind suddenly changed into the
north. It turned cold and soon commenced snowing violently,
and continued to increase until it became a frightful winter
tempest, filling the atmosphere with a dense cloud of driving
snow, against which it was utterly impossible to ride or walk.
Soon after the storm set in, one of our herds of three hundred
horses and mules broke furiously away from the herdsmen who
were guarding them, and in spite of their utmost efforts, ran
at full speed directly with the wind for fifty miles before
they stopped. Three of the herdsmen followed them as far as
they were able, but soon became exhausted, bewildered, and lost
on the prairie. One of them succeeded in finding his way back
to camp in a state of great prostration and suffering. One of
the others was found frozen to death in the snow, and the third
was discovered crawling about upon his hands and knees in a
state of temporary delirium, after the tempest subsided. This
terrific storm exceeded in violence and duration anything of
the kind our eldest mountaineer had ever beheld. It continued
with uninterrupted fury for sixty consecutive hours and during
this time it was impossible to move for any distance facing
the wind and snow. One of our employes who went out about
two hundred yards from the camp, set out to return, but was
unable to do so and perished in the attempt. Several antelope
were found frozen upon the prairie after the storm.... At the
termination of this frightful tempest, there was about three
feet of snow upon the ground, but the warm rays of the sun
soon melted it, and after collecting together our stampeded
animals, we again set forward for Utah and on the third day
following, struck the South Platte at its confluence with
Cherry Creek. There was at that time but one white man living
within one hundred and fifty miles of the place, and he was
an Indian trader named Jack Audeby, on the Arkansas.
A year later, after the Pike's Peak mining excitement had started, Marcy
issued a handbook for overland expeditions, in which he says, referring
to a point at the mouth of Monument Creek, which he calls the forks of
the Fontaine qui Bouille:
The road to Cherry Creek here leaves the Fontaine qui Bouille
and bears to the right. There is a large Indian trail which
crosses the main creek and takes a northwesterly course towards
Pike's Peak. By going up this trail about two miles, a mineral
spring will be found which gives the stream its name of "The
Fountain that Boils." This spring, or rather these springs, for
there are two, both of which boil up out of the solid rock,
are among the greatest natural curiosities that I have ever
seen. The water is strongly impregnated with salts, but is
delightful to the taste and somewhat similar to the Congress
water. It will well compensate one for the trouble of visiting
it.
Marcy claims that while waiting at the mouth of Cherry Creek for a
ferry-boat to be constructed to take them over the Platte River, which
was very high at the time, one of his employees washed a small amount of
gold dust from the sands of Cherry Creek. This employee was discharged
soon after and went direct to St. Louis, where he told of his discovery,
and Marcy claims that this was the beginning of the mining excitement
in the Pike's Peak region. This is different from other versions of the
event, the most probable of which is that the discovery of gold was first
made by the semi-civilized Cherokee Indians on their way to California.
What was known as the old Cherokee trail came up the Arkansas River to
a point about twelve miles below the mouth of the Fontaine qui Bouille.
From that place it ran in a northwesterly direction across the hills,
striking that creek about eight or ten miles above its mouth; thence up
the valley of the Fontaine to a point near the present town of Fountain;
turning northerly by the way of Jimmy's Camp to the head of Cherry
Creek, and down Cherry Creek to its mouth, where Denver now stands. From
this place, after running northerly along the base of the mountains
for a considerable distance, it struck across the mountains through
Bridger's Pass, and then turned westerly along the usual traveled road
to California. This trail was used by the first gold-seeking parties
which came to the present State of Colorado in 1858. The first of these
parties arrived at Cherry Creek only about two months after Marcy left.
The second party followed a week or two later, and the third party, of
which Anthony Bott, of Colorado City, was a member, was close behind it.
Members of this third party explored the region around where Colorado
City now stands, and later, with some others, returned and laid out the
town.
In 1859, occurred the memorable visit of Horace Greeley to the Pike's
Peak region. He arrived in Denver, June 16th, having come by the Smoky
Hill route. Writing from Denver, he says, among other things:
I have been passing, meeting, observing, and trying to converse
with Indians, almost ever since I crossed the Missouri River.
Eastern Kansas is checkered with their reservations,—Delaware,
Kaw, Ottawa, Osage, Kickapoo, Potawatamie, while the buffalo
range and all this side belong to, and are parceled among
the Cheyennes, the Arapahoes, and the Apaches, or perhaps
among the two former only, as Indian boundaries are not well
defined. At all events, we have met or passed bands of these
three tribes, with occasional visitors from the Sioux on the
north, and the Comanches on the south, all these tribes having
for the present a good understanding. The Utes who inhabit the
mountains are stronger and braver than any one of the three
tribes first named, though hardly a match for them all, are at
war with them. The Arapahoe Chief, Left Hand, assures me that
his people were always at war with the Utes; at least he has no
recollection, no tradition, of a time when they were at peace.
Some two or three hundred lodges of Arapahoes are encamped in
and about this log city, calculating that the presence of the
whites will afford some protection to their wives and children
against a Ute onslaught, while the braves are off on any of
their fighting—that is stealing—expeditions. An equal or
larger body of Utes are camped in the mountains some forty or
fifty miles west, and the Arapahoe warriors recently returned in
triumph from a war party on which they managed to steal about
one hundred horses from the Utes, but were obliged to kill
most of them in their rapid flight so that they only brought
home forty more than they took away. They are going out again
in a day or two, and have been for some days practicing secret
incantations and public observances with reference thereto.
Last midnight they were to have had a great war dance and to
have left on the warpath to-day, but their men sent out after
their horses reported that they saw three Utes on the plain,
which was regarded as premonitory of an attack, and the braves
stood to their arms all night and were very anxious for white
aid in case of the Ute foray on their lodges here in Denver.
Such an attack seems very improbable and I presume the three
Utes who caused all this uproar were simply scouts or spies
on the watch for just such marauding surprise parties as our
Arapahoe neighbors are constantly meditating. I do not see
why they need to take even this trouble. There are points on
the mountain range west of this city, where a watchman with
sharp eyes and a good glass could command the entire plain
for fifty miles north, south, and east of him, and might
hence give intelligence of any Arapahoe raid at least a day
before a brave entered the mountains; for though it is true
that Indians on the warpath travel or ride mainly by night, I
find that the Arapahoes do this only after they have entered
on what they consider disputed or dangerous ground; that they
start from their lodges in open day and only advance under
cover of darkness after they are within the shadows of the
mountains. Hence the Utes, who are confessedly the stronger,
might ambush and destroy any Arapahoe force that should venture
into their Rocky Mountain recesses, by the help of a good
spy-glass and a little "white forecast"; but the Indians are
children. Their arts, wars, treaties, alliances, habitations,
crafts, properties, commerce, comforts, all belong to the
very lowest and rudest ages of human existence. Any band of
schoolboys from ten to fifteen years of age are quite as capable
of ruling their appetites, devising and upholding a public
policy, constituting and conducting a state or community, as
the average Indian tribe.
I have learned to appreciate better than hitherto, and to make
more allowance for the dislike, aversion, and contempt wherewith
Indians are usually regarded by their white neighbors, and
have been since the days of the Puritans. It needs but little
familiarity with the actual, palpable aborigines, to convince
anyone that the poetical Indian—the Indian of Cooper and
Longfellow—is only visible to the poet's eye.
The Utes seldom visited Colorado City and the region round about in the
early days, except in the winter, which was the only time they could
do so with a fair degree of safety. A majority of the tribe had been on
friendly terms with the English-speaking people from the time of their
earliest contact with that race. It is true that straggling bands of
Utes occasionally committed acts of depredation, and such bands on one
or two occasions killed white people, but these acts were not approved
by the majority of the tribe.
One of these exceptions occurred on Christmas day, 1854, at Fort Napesta,
on the present site of the city of Pueblo. It is said that the men
who occupied the fort were celebrating the day with the liquid that
both cheers and inebriates, and in the midst of their jollity, a band
of wandering Utes came by and was invited to join in the revelry. The
Indians, nothing loath, partook of the white man's Taos lightning, the
product of a distillery at Taos, New Mexico, and the natural consequence
was an attack upon the whites which resulted in all the latter being
killed.
In 1866, a small band of Utes began a raid upon the settlers on Huerfano
Creek, but when the news reached Ouray, the head chief of the tribe, he
sent runners out at once to warn the settlers and then went to the scene
of action with a band of his faithful warriors. He soon afterwards took
the hostile Indians prisoners and compelled them to go to Fort Garland
and remain there, in this manner quickly ending the trouble. Ouray was
always the friend of the whites, and is entitled to the very greatest
credit for the able manner in which he held the Utes under control up
to the time of his death, in 1881.
Ouray was born at Taos, New Mexico, in 1833. His father was a Tabeguache
Ute and his mother a Jicarilla Apache. His boyhood was passed among
the better class of Mexicans, chiefly as a herder of sheep. He learned
Spanish and always preferred it to his native tongue. When eighteen years
of age, he joined the band of Utes of which his father was leader, then
located in southwestern Colorado. From that time until about 1860, he
led the life of a wild Indian, passing his time hunting in the mountains
and on the plains, varied by an occasional battle with the hereditary
enemies of his people, the Kiowas, Sioux, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes of
the plains, in which he acquired the reputation of a courageous and
skillful warrior. In 1859, he chose a wife, named Chipeta, from among
the Tabaguache maidens, to whom he was always devotedly attached, and
who bore him a son. This child was captured by the Cheyennes in 1863,
they having surprised a hunting camp of Utes under Ouray's command, near
the present site of Fort Lupton on the Platte River. The boy was never
recovered and, indeed, was never heard of afterwards.
In person Ouray was of the almost invariably short stature which
distinguishes his people from those of the plains tribes. He stood about
five feet seven inches high and in his later years became quite portly.
His head was strikingly large and well-shaped, his features were regular,
bearing an expression of dignity in repose, but lighting up pleasantly in
conversation. In his ordinary bearing his manner was courtly and gentle,
and he was extremely fond of meeting and conversing with cultivated white
men, with whom he was a genial companion, compelling their respect and
favor by the broad enlightenment of his views. In his habits he was a
model, never using tobacco, abhorring whiskey, and taking only a sip of
wine when in company with those who were indulging, and then merely as
a matter of courtesy to them. He never swore nor used obscene language,
was a firm believer in the Christian religion, and about two years before
his death united himself with the Methodist Church.
When in active command of his men, his word was law, and disobedience
meant death. In the summer of 1874 at Bijou, while returning from Denver
to their camp in the south, one of his men decided to build a fire and
started to cut some wood for that purpose within the enclosure of a white
settler. Ouray, discovering his intention, ordered him back, reminding
him that they must not trespass upon the property of the white man. The
obstinate Ute replied that he must have firewood and that he would cut
it anyway. Ouray answered that if he did, he would kill him, whereat the
other observed that two could play at that game. Instantly both started
for their guns, reaching them at about the same time, but Ouray was
quicker than his adversary and shot him. On another occasion he shot and
broke the arm of Johnson, a member of his tribe, who afterwards caused
much of the trouble at the White River Agency. Johnson was given to
gambling, horse-racing, lying, and trickery of all kinds. In the present
case, he had stolen some horses from white men, and refused to return
them when commanded to do so, thereby, in Ouray's opinion, bringing
disgrace upon the Ute nation, for which he had to be punished.
In the foregoing, I have quoted freely from General Frank Hall's History
of Colorado. General Hall had unusual opportunities for knowing Ouray
and of his dealings with the whites.
It was through the prompt and decisive action of Ouray that the leaders
of the massacre of Meeker and others at the White River Agency, in 1879,
were surrendered to the authorities for punishment. The early settlers
of Colorado owe to Ouray a debt of gratitude, and a monument to his
memory should at some time be erected by the people of this State. Ouray
frequently came to Colorado City in the early days, and sometimes his
visits were of considerable duration.
In the winter of 1865-1866, a large body of Ute Indians camped for
several months on the south side of the Fountain, opposite Colorado
City. On departing in the spring, they abandoned a squaw who had broken
a leg, leaving her in a rudely constructed tent, or tepee. Had not
the women of Colorado City taken her in charge she would have starved.
After the Indians left, she was moved into a log cabin in Colorado City
and provided with all she needed until her death, which occurred a few
months later. The Utes seemed to think nothing of this heartless act,
and even the abandoned squaw did not seem to resent it. It was a very
common occurrence for the Indians of most of the tribes to abandon the
aged and disabled, as in moving around, they did not wish to be burdened
with those who were incapable of taking care of themselves.
In the winter of 1866-1867, a thousand or more Utes camped for several
months below Manitou, between the Balanced Rock and the Fountain. Game was
very scarce in this region during that winter and the Indians suffered
for want of food. Finally, they reached such a strait that their chiefs
made a demand upon the citizens of Colorado City for twenty sacks of
flour, and intimated that unless it was produced forthwith, they would
be compelled to march into town and take it by force. The citizens,
realizing their utter helplessness in the matter, obtained the flour
without delay and turned it over to the Indians. This was the only time
in all the early period that Colorado City suffered from the presence
of the Utes.
Chaveno and Colorow were the principal chiefs of this band. Chaveno was
an Indian of a good deal of intelligence. When visiting the whites he
always went about dressed in an army officer's uniform of dark blue which
had been given him by an officer at Fort Garland. Chaveno was always
strutting around, and seemed very proud of himself in his uniform, of
which he took the greatest possible care. In the matter of dress, Colorow
was the reverse. He seemed to have no liking whatever for the white man's
costume. His physique was like that of Ouray, short, but of powerful
build. He had been a noted warrior in his early days and delighted in
telling of his exploits in the various battles with the Cheyennes and
Arapahoes in which he had taken part. Colorow was treacherous by nature
and his friendship for the whites was not always to be depended upon.
In the winter of 1874-1875, Ouray, with a band of six hundred Utes,
camped at Florissant for several months. One day a Mr. Marksberry, living
on Tarryall Creek, rode up to the Post Office at Florissant, tied his
horse, and went into the building. The pony attracted the attention of
an Indian named Antelope, who claimed the animal as his own; he slipped
off the saddle and bridle, and, jumping on the pony's back, rode away.
Marksberry and a friend, being determined to recover the pony, followed
the band to their camp in Beaver Park, south of Pike's Peak. Marksberry
found his pony with the Indian herd, caught it, and was turning away,
when Antelope, hidden behind a tree, shot and instantly killed him. Chief
Ouray, always ready to "travel the white man's road," gave up Antelope
to justice. Upon trial of the case in the courts of Arapahoe County,
some months later, he was acquitted.
The Utes, by treaties made in March, 1868, April, 1874, and March, 1880,
ceded to the general government all the lands claimed by them within the
boundaries of the present State of Colorado, except a small reservation
retained for their own use in the southwestern part of the State.