It was early in the spring of fifty when Kit Carson, Jim Bridger, and
myself met at Bent's Fort, which was on the head waters, of the Arkansas
river. Bridger and I had just got in from our winter's trapping ground
and had disposed of our furs to a very good advantage; Carson had just
returned from a trip back east. Carson said to Bridger, "Now Jim, I'll
tell you what I want you to do. I want you and Will (meaning me) to
go over to Fort Kerney and escort emigrants across to California this
season, for the gold excitement back in the eastern states is something
wonderful, and there will be thousands of emigrants going to the gold
fields of California, and they do not know the danger they will have to
contend with, and you two men can save thousands of lives this summer by
going to Fort Kerney and meeting the emigrants there and escorting them
through. Now boys, you must understand that this undertaking is no
child's play. In doing this apparently many times you will seem
to take your lives in your own hands, for the Indians will be worse on
the plains this year than they ever have been. At the present time there
is no protection for the emigrant from the time they get twenty-five
miles west of Fort Kerney, until they cross the Sierra Nevada mountains,
and there are to be so many renegades from justice from Illinois and
Missouri that it is going to be fearful this season, for the renegade
is really worse in some respects than the Indian. He invariably has two
objects in view. He gets the Indian to commit the murder which is a
satisfaction to him without any personal risk besides the plunder he
gets. I know, boys, you can get good wages out of this thing, and I want
you to take hold of it, and you, Jim, I know have no better friend than
Gen. Kerney, and he will assist you boys in every way he can. I almost
feel as though I ought to go myself, but I cannot leave my family at
the present time; now, Jim, will you go?" Bridger jumped up, rubbed his
hands together and said, "I'll be dog goned if I won't, if Will goes
with me."
[Illustration: As soon as they were gone I took the scalp off the dead
Chief's head.]
To which I replied, "I will go with you, and I think the quicker we
start the better it will be for all parties concerned." Carson said,
"You can't start too soon, for the emigrants will be arriving at Fort
Kerney by the time you get there."
The next morning Jim and I were up and had an early breakfast and were
ready to start. Uncle Kit said to us, "Now boys, when you come back this
fall I want you to come and see me and tell me what kind of luck you
have had, and all the news."
We now bid him good bye, and we were off.
I will here inform the reader that Carson had taught me to call him
Uncle Kit when I was fourteen years old, and I always addressed him in
that way. Jim and I were off for Fort Kerney, which was a journey of
about three hundred miles and not a sign of civilization on the whole
trip. It was a wild Indian country the entire distance, but we
knew where the hostile Indians were and also the friendly Indians.
Consequently we reached Fort Kerney without having any trouble.
We met Gen. Kerney, who was glad to see us. He said, "Boys, where in the
name of common sense are you going to?"
We explained to him in a few words our business. After hearing our plans
the Gen. said, "I am certainly glad to know that someone will take hold
of this thing, for I am sure that there will be more emigrants massacred
this year than has ever been in any other. I will tell you why I think
so. All the Indians from here to the Sierra-Nevada mountains are in the
war-path; in the second place the emigrants who are coming from the
east have no idea what they have to contend with, and I dread the
consequences."
While this conversation was taking place a soldier rode in that had been
on picket duty and said to the Gen., "I saw some covered wagons going
into camp down on Deer Creek about five miles from here. Where do you
suppose they are going, Gen?"
To which Gen. Kerney replied, "They are going to California, and you
will see hundreds of them inside the next two weeks."
Jim Bridger said, "Well, Willie, come on and let's see what we can do
with them."
As we were leaving the Fort Gen. Kerney said to us, "Boys, come back and
stay all night with me, I want you to make my quarters your home while
you are waiting for the emigrants to arrive."
Bridger answered, "Thank you, Gen. We will be glad to do so, and we may
want you to recommend us to the emigrants."
To which the Gen. answered, "I will take pleasure in doing so."
Bridger and I rode down to where the emigrants were in camp, and we
found the most excited people I ever saw in my life. They had passed
through one of the most terrible experiences that had ever occurred on
the frontier. There were thirty wagons in the train, and they were all
from the southeastern part of Missouri, and it seemed that there was one
man in the train by the name of Rebel who at the time they had left
home had sworn that he would kill the first Indian he came across. This
opportunity occurred this morning about five miles back of where we met
them. The train was moving along slowly when this man "Rebel" saw a
squaw sitting on a log with a papoose in her arms, nursing. He shot her
down; she was a Kiawah squaw, and it was right on the edge of their
village where he killed her in cold blood. The Kiawahs were a very
strong tribe, but up to this time they had never been hostile to the
whites; but this deed so enraged the warriors that they came out in a
body and surrounded the emigrants and demanded them to give up the man
who had shot the squaw. Of course, his comrades tried not to give him to
them, but the Indians told them if they did not give the man to them,
they would kill them all. So knowing that the whole train was at the
mercy of the Indians, they gave the man to them. The Indians dragged him
about a hundred yards and tied him to a tree, and then they skinned
him alive and then turned him loose. One of the men told us that the
butchered creature lived about an hour, suffering the most intense
agony. They had just buried him when we rode into the camp. The woman
and some of the men talked about the dreadful thing; one of the men said
it was a comfort to know that he had no family with him here or back
home to grieve at his dreadful death.
On hearing this remark Jim said, "You are the most lucky outfit I ever
saw. Any other tribe of Indians this side of the Rocky Mountains would
not have left one of you to have told the tale, and it is just such
darned fools as that man that stir up the Indians, to do so much
deviltry."
Until this time there had been but a few of the emigrants near us. We
were both dressed in buck-skin, and they did not know what to make of
us. The young girls and some of the young men were very shy. They had
never seen anyone dressed in buck-skin before. An elderly woman came
to us and said, "Ain't you two men what they call mountaineers?" Jim
answered, "Yes, marm, I reckon, we are."
She replied, "Well, if you are, my old man wants you to come and eat
supper with we'ns."
Jim turned to me and laughed. "Shall we go and eat with them, Willie?"
he asked. I answered, "Yes, let's get acquainted with everybody."
We went with the old lady to their tent, which was but a few steps from
where we stood. When she had presented us to her old man as she called
him, she said to him, "Jim, I know these men can tell you what to do."
He shook hands with us, saying, "I don't know what in the world we are
going to do. I believe the Indians will kill us all if we try to go any
further, and I know they will if we go back."
By this time there was quite a crowd around us.
I said to Jim, "Why don't you tell the people, what we can do for them?"
Jim then said, "why, dog gorn it, this boy and I can take you all
through to California and not be troubled with the Indians if there is
no more durned fools among you to be a-shooting squaws. But you will
have to do just as we tell you to do." And looking over the ground he
asked, "Who is your captain? I want to see him."
The old man said, "Want to see our Capt'n? We hain't got any capt'n, got
no use for one." Jim then asked, "Who puts out your guards around the
camp at night?"
"Guards? Didn't know we had to have any."
Jim looked the astonishment he felt as he said, "Why, dad-blame-it
man, you won't get a hundred miles from here before all of you will be
killed."
At that moment one of the men said, "Who is this coming?"
We all looked in the direction he was, and we saw it was Gen. Kerney.
When he rode up to us Bridger said, "Gen., what do you think? These
people have no captain and have no one to guard the camp at night."
The Gen. answered, "Is that possible? How in the name of god have they
got here without being massacred?" And then, addressing the men that
stood near he said, "Gentlemen, you had better make some arrangement
with my friends here to pilot you across to California; for I assure you
that if these men go with you and you follow their directions, you will
reach your journey's end in safety."
Just then the Gen. looked down the road, and he said, "Look there!"
We all looked, and we saw another long train of emigrants coming towards
us. They drove up near us and prepared to go into camp. This was a mixed
train. Some came from Illinois, some from Indiana, and a few families
from the state of Ohio.
Jim and I mounted our horses and rode with the Gen. down among the new
emigrants. They had heard all about the skinning of the white man and
were terribly excited about it. They asked the Gen. what was best for
them to do. A great many of them wanted to turn and go back. Finally
the Gen. said to them, "Here are two as good men as there are in the
mountains. They are thoroughly reliable and understand the Indians'
habits perfectly. Now, my friends, the best thing you can do is to
organize yourselves into company, select your captain and then make some
arrangement with these men to pilot you through, for I tell you now,
there will be more trouble on the plains this year than has ever been
known before with the Indians. Now gentlemen, we must leave you, but we
will come back in the morning and see what decision you have come to."
At this time two men stepped up to Jim Bridger and me and said, "Why
can't you two stay all night with us? We've got plenty to eat, and you
both can sleep in our tent."
Jim answered, "We don't want to sleep in any tent. We've got our
blankets, and we will sleep under that tree," pointing to a tree near
us.
The Gen. said, "Mr. Bridger, you boys had better stay here tonight, for
you have lots of business to talk over."
Jim and I dismounted, staked our horses out and went to supper. After
supper Jim said, "Now, you want to get together and elect a captain."
One man said, "All right, I'll go and notify the entire camp, and we
will call a meeting at once." Which was done. As soon as the crowd
gathered, they called on Jim to tell them what to do. Jim mounted the
tongue of a wagon and said, "Now, men, the first thing to do is to elect
a Captain, and we must take the name of every able-bodied man in this
outfit, for you will have to put out camp guards and picket guards every
night. Now, pick out your men, and I'll put it to a vote."
Some called for Mr. Davis, and some for Mr. Thomas; both men came
forward. Jim said, "now, Mr. Davis, get up on this wagon tongue and I'll
make a mark, and we'll see if the crowd wants you for their Captain." Jim
took a stick and made a mark on the ground from the wagon tongue clear
out through the crowd. He then said, "All that want Mr. Davis for
Captain will step to the right of this line, and they that favor Mr.
Thomas will keep to the left of the line." About three fourths of the men
stepped to the right of the line, which made Davis Captain. As soon as
Davis was declared Captain, he said, "Now friends, we must hire these
men to escort us to California; if there is anybody here that is not in
favor of this let him say so now."
But everyone shouted, "Yes! yes!"
Davis turned to us and said, "What is your price for the trip?"
Jim said to me, "What do you say, Will?"
I replied, "It is worth four dollars a day each."
Jim told the Captain that we would go for four dollars a day to be paid
each of us every Saturday night, and if at the end of the first week we
had not given satisfaction, we would quit. Davis put it to a vote, and
it was carried in our favor.
The balance of the evening was spent in making arrangements to commence
drilling the men. In the morning Jim said to me, "Now, Will, I'll take
charge of the wagons and you take charge of the scouts."
I told the Captain that I wanted him to select seven good men that owned
their horses. I wanted to drill them to act as scouts. Jim said, "Yes,
we want to get to drilling every body tomorrow morning."
We put in four hard days' work at this business, and then we were ready
for the trail, and we pulled out on our long and tedious journey to the
land of gold.
There were four hundred and eighty-six men and ninety women in the
train, and they had one hundred and forty-eight wagons. Every thing
moved smoothly until we were near the head of the North Platte river.
We were now in the Sioux country, and I began to see a plenty of Indian
sign. Jim and I had arranged that a certain signal meant for him to
corral the wagons at once. As I was crossing the divide at the head
of Sweet Water, I discovered quite a band of Indians coming directly
towards the train, but I did not think they had seen it yet. I rode back
as fast as my horse could carry me. When I saw the train, I signaled
to Jim to corral, and I never saw such a number of wagons corralled so
quickly before or since, as they were. Jim told the women and children
to leave the wagon and go inside the corral, and he told the men to
stand outside with their guns, ready for action, but to hold their fire
until he gave the word, and he said, "When you shoot, shoot to kill; and
do your duty as brave men should."
In a moment, the Indians were in sight, coming over the hill at full
speed. When they saw the wagons, they gave the war whoop. This scared
the women, and they began to cry and scream and cling to their children.
Jim jumped up on a wagon tongue and shouted at the top of his voice "For
God's sake, women, keep still, or you will all be killed."
This had the effect that he desired, and there was not a word or sound
out of them. When the Indians were within a hundred yards from us, their
yelling was terrible to hear.
Jim now said, "Now boys, give it to them, and let the red devils have
something to yell about," and I never saw men stand up and fight better
than these emigrants. They were fighting for their mothers' and wives'
and children's lives, and they did it bravely. In a few minutes the
fight was over, and what was left of the Indians got away in short
order. We did not lose a man, and only one was slightly wounded. There
were sixty-three dead warriors left on the field, and we captured twenty
horses.
It was six miles from here to the nearest water, so we had to drive that
distance to find a place to camp. We reached the camping ground a little
before sunset. After attending to the teams and stationing the guards
for the night Cap't. Davis came to Jim and me and said, "The ladies want
to give you a reception tonight."
Jim said, "What for?" Davis replied, "Saving our lives from those
horrible savages." Jim answered, "Why, durn it all, ain't that what you
are paying us for? We just done our duty and no more, as we intend to do
all the way to California."
By this time there was a dozen women around us. With the others was a
middle-aged woman. She said, "Now, you men with the buck-skin clothes,
come and take supper with us. It is now all ready."
Jim said, "Come, Willie, let's go and eat, for I am hungry and tired
too."
While we were eating supper, three or four young ladies came up to us
and asked me if I didn't want to dance.
"The boys are cleaning off the ground now, and I want you for my first
pardner," she said with a smile and a blush. Jim said, "Will can't dance
anything but the scalp dance." One of the girls said, "What kind of a
dance is that?"
Jim replied, "If the Indians had got some of your scalps this afternoon
you would have known something about it by this time."
Jim told them that when the Indians scalped a young girl, they took the
scalp to their wigwam and then gave a dance to show the young squaws
what a brave deed they had done, "and all you girls had better watch out
that they don't have some of your scalps to dance around before you get
to California; but if you wish us to, Will and I will dance the scalp
dance tonight, so you can see how it is done."
When they had the ground all fixed for the dance, Jim and I took our
handkerchiefs and put them on a couple of sticks, stuck the sticks into
the ground and went through the Indian scalp dance, making all the
hideous motions with jumps and screams, loud enough to start the hair
from its roots, after which Jim explained to them this strange custom,
telling them that if any of them was unfortunate enough to fall into the
Indians' hands this was the performance that would be had around their
scalps.
The girls said with a shudder they had seen enough of that kind of
dancing without the Indians showing them. The lady who had invited us to
supper said, "Now girls, you see what these men have done for us, they
have saved our lives, and do you realize the obligation we are under to
them? Now let us do everything we can for their comfort until we reach
California."
And I must say I never saw more kind-hearted people than these men and
women were to us all the way, on this long and dangerous journey.
We had no more trouble with the Indians until we had crossed Green
river. We were now in the Ute country. At this time the Utes were
considered to be one of the most hostile tribes in the West. That night
Jim asked me what route I thought best to take, by the way of Salt Lake
or Landers Cut Off. I said, "Jim, Landers Cut Off is the shortest and
safest route from the fact that the Indians are in the southern part of
the territory at this time of year, and I do not believe we shall have
much more trouble with them on this trip." Which proved to be true. We
saw no more Indians until we reached the Humbolt river. Just above the
Sink of Humbolt about the middle of the afternoon I saw quite a band of
Indians heading directly for the train. I signaled Jim to corral, which
he did at once.
In a few moments they were upon us. As we were out on an open prairie,
we had a good sight of the Indians before they reached us; I saw by the
leader's dress that it was a chief that was leading them. His head dress
was composed of eagles' feathers, and he rode some thirty or forty yards
ahead of the other warriors. When in gun shot of me I fired at him and
brought him down. When he fell from his horse the rest of the Indians
wheeled their horses and fled, but the chief was the only one that fell.
As soon as they were gone I took the scalp off the dead chief's head.
When we went into camp that evening, Jim told the emigrants what a great
thing I had done in shooting the chief. "There is no knowing how many
lives he saved by that one shot in the right time."
Then all the emigrants gathered around me to see the scalp of the
Indian; they had never seen such a sight before; each of the young
ladies wanted a quill from the Indian's head dress; and they asked me
what I would take for one of them; I told them the quills were not for
sale.
At this time the lady who had invited Jim and me to eat with her so many
times came up to us, and she said, "Girls, I can tell you how you can
get these quills." They all asked at once, "How is that, aunty?"
"Each one of you give him a kiss for a quill," she laughed, and of all
the blushing I ever saw the young girls that surrounded me beat the
record. Jim grinned and said, "I'll be dog goned if I don't buy the
scalp and the feathers and take all the kisses myself."
This made a general laugh. I told Jim that he was too selfish, and that
I would not share the kisses with him, that I would give the scalp
to him and the feathers to the elder lady, and she could divide the
feathers among the girls. The girls clapped their hands and shouted,
"Good! good!"
Jim said that was just his luck, he was always left out in the cold.
In a few days we were on the top of the Sierra Nevada mountains. We told
the emigrants that they were entirely out of danger and did not need our
services any longer, so we would not put them to any more expense by
going further with them. As this was Saturday evening the emigrants
proposed going into camp until Monday morning and that Jim and I should
stay and visit with them. We accepted the invitation, and Sunday was
passed in pleasant converse with these most agreeable people, and I will
say here that of all the emigrants I ever piloted across the plains none
ever exceeded these men and women in politeness and good nature, not
only to Jim and me, but to each other, for through all that long and
trying journey there was no unkindness shown by any of them, and if we
would have accepted all the provisions they offered us it would have
taken a pack train to have carried it through. Every lady in the train
tried to get up some little extra bite for us to eat on the way back.
The reader may imagine our surprise when Monday morning came and we saw
the amount of stuff they brought to us. Jim said, "Why ladies we haven't
any wagon to haul this stuff, and we have only one pack horse and he can
just pack our blankets and a little more. Besides, we won't have time to
eat these goodies on the road. Supposing the Indians get after us? We
would have to drop them and the red skins would get it all."
We now packed up and were ready to put out. We mounted our horses, bid
them "good bye" and were off.
Nothing of interest occurred until we got near Green river. Here we met
Jim Beckwith and Bob Simson. Jim Bridger and I had just gone into camp
when they rode up. After they had shaken hands with us Jim Beckwith
said, "Boys, you are just the parties we are looking for."
Bridger asked Beckwith what he had been doing and where he had been
since we parted at Bent's Fort last spring. Beckwith replied that he
had been with a train of emigrants just now who were on the way to
California, and they had camped over on Black's Fort. The cholera had
broken out among them soon after they crossed the Platte River, and from
then up to yesterday they had buried more or less every day. There had
been no new cases since yesterday, and they were laying over to let
the people rest and get their strength, and they expected to start out
tomorrow morning, and turning to me Beckwith said, "Will, I want you to
go with us for there is another train of emigrants over on the Salt Lake
route."
At this time there were two routes between the Green river and the
Humboldt; one by the way of Salt Lake and the other by Lander's Cut off.
Beckwith said, "Those emigrants going by the Salt Lake route have no
guide, and I am afraid when they strike the Humboldt they will all be
massacred, for they will be right in the heart of the Pi-Ute country,
and you know this tribe is on the war path, and I want you to go on and
overtake them and see them safely through, or else stay with this train
and I will go myself and take care of them. We want the two trains to
meet at the mouth of Lone Canyon, and then we will go up Long Canyon to
Honey lake and then cross the Sierra Nevada."
I turned to Jim Bridger and said, "Jim, what do you think of this
proposition?"
Jim said he thought it a good thing for me to do; the responsibility
would give me more confidence in myself. "You know, Will, you have
always depended on Carson or me at all times, and this trip will teach
you to depend on yourself."
I saddled my horse and went with Beckwith back to the emigrants' camp.
It was arranged that I was to take charge of the scouts and Simson to
take charge of the other train, and Beckwith would go on and overtake
the other train, and the train that reached the mouth of Long Canyon
where it empties into Truckey river first must wait for the other train.
At this point the two trails divided, one going up the Truckey by the
Donna lake route and the other up Long Canyon by Honey lake, the latter
being considered the best route.
The next morning we pulled out. I had good luck all the way through,
having no trouble with the Indians, arriving at Long Canyon three days
ahead of Jim Beckwith.
In my train there was an old man with his wife and a son and daughter;
they seemed to be very peculiar dispositioned people, always wanting to
camp by themselves and having nothing to say to any one. When we reached
Long Canyon, Simson told the emigrants that we would wait until the
other train arrived, which news greatly pleased the most of them, but
the old man and his family seemed to be all upset at the idea of laying
over, and the next morning they harnessed up their horses. While they
were doing this, Simson called my attention to them and said, "Let's go
and see what they mean."
I asked the man what he was going to do with his team. He replied that
he was going to hook them to the wagon and was going to California. I
said, "You certainly are not going to start on such a journey alone,
are you? You are liable to be all killed by the Indians before you get
twenty miles from here."
The old man shrugged his shoulders and said, "Why, gol darn it, we
hain't seen an Injin in the last three hundred miles, and I don't
believe there is one this side of them mountains," and he pointed
towards the Sierra Nevada mountains. "And if we did meet any they
wouldn't bother us for we hain't got much grub, and our horses is too
poor for them to want."
I told him, he must not go alone, the road was too dangerous, and
besides the other train might come at any moment, and then we could all
pull out in safety. He said, "I own that wagon and them horses, and I
own pretty much every thing in that wagon and I think I will do just as
I please with them." I insisted on his waiting until the other train
came up, he said, he would not wait any longer, that he was going to go
right now. I left him and walked back to the camp; I asked the men if
any of them had any influence with that old man out there.
"If you have for god's sake use it and persuade him to not leave us, for
if he starts out alone he, nor any of his family will reach Honey lake
alive."
Just then one of the men said, "I have known that man ten years and I
know that all the advice all these people could give him would be wasted
breath and the less said to him the better it will be."
I then went back to Simson who had charge of the wagons and said to him,
"What shall we do with that old man? He is hitching up to leave us which
will be sure death to him and his family. If he goes had we not better
take his team away from him and save his life and his family's?"
Simson said, he would consult with the other men and see what they
thought about it. After he had talked with the other men a short time,
twenty or thirty of them went out where the old man was hitching up his
team. What they said to him I do not know. When I got to him he was
about ready to pull out; he said, "I'm going now and you men can come
when you please and I don't give a D'. whether you come at all of not."
This was the last we ever saw of the old man or his son.
Three days later Jim Bridger arrived with his train, and then we all
pulled out together by the way of Honey lake. The first night after
leaving camp Jim Bridger, Simson and myself had a talk about the old man
who had left us. Jim said. "I don't suppose we shall ever hear of him
again," and turning to me he said, "Will, it will take us two days to go
to Honey Lake; now tomorrow morning suppose you pick out of your scout
force eight good men, take two days' rations and your blankets with you
and rush on ahead to the Lake and see if you can find them. It may be
possible that some of them are alive, but I don't think you will find
one of them. Now, Will, be careful and don't take any desperate chances;
if you find they have been taken prisoners keep track of them until we
get there."
The next morning I and my men were off bright and early. We reached the
lake about three o'clock in the afternoon, where we struck the lake
there was scattering timber for quite a ways up and down and here we
found the old man's wagon. The wagon cover, his tent, and his team, were
gone; his cooking utensils were setting around the fire which was still
burning. Almost every thing was gone from the wagon, but there was
no sign of a fight. Neither could we see any white men's tracks; but
moccasin tracks were plenty. We sat down and ate our luncheon: as soon
as we finished eating we started to trail the Indians to find out what
had become of the whites. We had gone but a short distance when I
discovered the tracks of the two women; then we knew that they had been
captured by the Indians. I said, "I want you men to take this side of
the ridge and watch for Indians all the time, and you must watch me
also; when you see me throw up my hat come at once and be sure to not
shout, but signal to each other by whistling or holding up your hands
and be sure to have your signals understood among yourselves. And
another thing I want to say to you, if you see any Indian, signal to me,
at once. Now I am going to take the trail of these white women, and if I
need your assistance I will signal, and you must all get to me as quick
as possible."
All being understood I started on the trail of the white women. I hadn't
followed the trail over a half a mile, when I saw one of the men running
towards me at full speed; when he reached me he said, "We have found a
dead man, and he is stuck full of arrows."
I mounted my horse and accompanied him to where the body lay. I
recognized it at once; it was the son of the old man who had left us
three days before. His clothes were gone except his shirt and pants,
and his body was almost filled with arrows. I said, "This is one of the
party, and the other is a prisoner, or we shall find his body not
far from here. Let us scatter out and search this grove of timber
thoroughly; perhaps we may find the other body; and be careful to watch
out for the Indians, for they are liable to run upon us any time."
We had not gone more than two hundred yards before we found the old
man's body; it was laying behind a log with every indication of a
hand-to-hand fight. One arrow was stuck in his body near the heart, and
there were several tomahawk's wounds on the head and shoulders, which
showed that he died game.
It was getting late in the afternoon so I proposed to the men that we
take the bodies back to where we had found their camp, as we had no way
of burying the bodies in a decent manner, we had to wait until the train
came up to us. We laid the bodies side by side under a tree and then we
went into camp for the night as there was good grass for the horses. We
staked them out close to camp. We had seen no Indians all day, so we did
not think it necessary to put out guards around the camp that night, and
we all laid down and went to sleep.
The next morning we were up and had an early breakfast; that done, I
said, "Now, men I want two of you to go back and meet Bridger and tell
him what we have found and pilot him here to this camp, and he will
attend to the burying of these bodies; I would rather you should choose
among your selves who shall go back."
One man by the name of Boyd and another whose name was Taluck said they
would go. These men were both from Missouri; I then told them to tell
Bridger that I was a going to start on the trail of the white women at
once, and for him to camp here and that he would hear from me tonight,
whether I found them or not.
The rest of the men and I started on the trail; three went on one side
and three on the other, and I took the trail; I cautioned the men to
keep a sharp look out for the Indians all the time, and if they saw any
Indians to signal to me at once. I had followed the trail some five or
six miles when it led me to a little stream of water in a small grove of
timber. Here I found where the Indians had camped; the fire was still
burning which convinced me that the Indians had camped there the night
before. I also saw where the two women had been tied to a tree. I
followed them a short distance and saw that the band we were following
had met a larger band, and they had all gone off together in a northerly
direction. We were now near the north end of Honey lake, and I had about
given up hopes of ever seeing the women again, but I did not tell my
thoughts to my companions. The trail was so plain that I now mounted my
horse; we followed at a pretty rapid gate two or three miles, when we
saw that a few tracks had turned directly towards the lake. I dismounted
and examined them and found the two shoe tracks went with the small
party. I was now convinced that this was a party of squaws going to the
lake to fish; and I felt more encouraged to keep up the pursuit. We were
within a mile of the lake at this time. We rode as fast as we could and
keep the trail in sight. We soon came in sight of the lake; looking to
the right I saw a small band of squaws building a fire. I called the men
to me and told them that I believed the women we were looking for were
with those squaws, and if they were, I thought we could rescue them.
"I think our best plan will be to ride slowly until they see us and then
make a dash as fast as our horses can carry us; if the white women are
with them, we will ride right up to them, if they are tied I will jump
down and cut them loose," and pointing at two of the men I said, "You
two men will take them up behind you and take the lead back, and the
rest of us will protect you."
We did not ride much farther before the squaws discovered us at which
they began to shout, "Hyha," which meant "They're coming they're
coming."
In a moment we were in their midst, and sure enough the women were there
and tied fast to a small tree, a short distance from where the squaws
were building the fire.
What happened in the next few minutes I could never describe. The
women knew me at once and with cries and laughter, touching, beyond
description greeted me.
In an instant I was off my horse and cutting them loose from the tree,
at the same time the men were circling around us with guns cocked ready
to shoot the first squaw that interfered with us.
To my great surprise I did not see a bow or arrow among them or a
tomahawk either; as quick as I had the women loose I helped them up
behind the men I had selected to take them away from captivity back to
meet the train. As soon as we had left them of all the noise I ever
heard those squaws made the worst. I think they did this so the bucks
might know that they had lost their captives and might come to their
assistance. Where the bucks were I never knew. After riding four or five
miles we slacked our speed, and the women began telling us how the whole
thing had occurred. It seemed they had got to the camping ground early
in the afternoon of the second day after leaving us and instead of
staking out their horses they turned them loose, and about dusk the old
man and his son went out to look for the horses, were gone a couple of
hours and came back without them. This made them all very uneasy. The
next morning just at break of day the old man and his son took their
guns and started out again to hunt for their horses, and the mother and
daughter made a fire and cooked breakfast. The sun was about an hour
high, and they were sitting near the fire waiting for the men to come
back when they heard the report of a gun; they thought the men were
coming back and were shooting some game. They had no idea there was an
Indian near them. In the course of a half an hour they heard the second
shot, and in a few minutes the Indians were upon them, and they knew
that the men were both dead, because the Indians had both of their guns
and were holding them up and yelling and dancing with fiendish glee. The
Indians grabbed them and tied their hands behind them and then they tore
down their tent, took the wagon cover off and everything out of the
wagon that they could carry off.
"The bucks did the things up in bundles, and the squaws packed them on
their backs, and they were expecting every minute to be killed. After
the squaws had gone the bucks ate everything they could find that was
cooked, and the squaws that you found us with made us go with them to
the north end of the lake and there they camped that night. They tied us
with our backs to a little tree; we could not lay down and what little
sleep we got we took sitting up; we had not had a bit of breakfast that
morning when the Indians came upon us; it was all ready, and we were
waiting for our men folks to come back, and we have had nothing since,
but a little piece of broiled fish with no salt on it."
Until now I had not said anything about our finding the dead bodies of
their men, I thought it better to tell them now rather than wait until
we reached camp, as I thought the shock would be less when they came to
see the condition they were in.
Before I had finished telling the condition of the bodies when we found
them, I was afraid the young lady would faint, she seemed to take the
horrid news much harder than her mother did.
When we got to camp we found that Bridger had been there some two hours
ahead of us and had men digging the graves and others tearing up the
wagon box to make coffins to bury the bodies in.
We took the women to a family they were acquainted with and left them in
their care. After they had been given something to eat they went where
the bodies lay and looked at them, and with sobs of bitter grief bent
over them; which made my heart ache in sympathy for them in their
loneliness.
The next morning we laid them away into their lonely graves in as decent
a manner as we could, and in sadness left them.
Through the influence of Jim Bridger arrangements were made with two
families to take these two ladies with them to California. Just before
noon Jim came to me and said, "We will stay here until tomorrow morning;
I would like you to take four or five men who have good horses and go
around the north end of the lake and find out, if you can, if the Piutes
are gathering together in a large band. It is about the time of year for
the Piutes to leave this part of the country, but if they are gathering
in a large band they are bent on giving us trouble, and we will have to
make preparations to defend our selves. In three days more if we have
good luck we shall be out of the hostile Indian country."
We had an early dinner and four others and myself set out for the head
of the lake, we rode hard all that afternoon and to our great surprise
we never saw an Indian. We passed a number of camps where they had been,
but their trails all showed that they had pulled out for the north.
Seeing this we turned back and struck the emigrant trail about ten miles
from where Jim was camped. Just as we struck the emigrants trail I
looked off to the south about a quarter of a mile and saw nine head of
horses, and they were heading in the same direction we were going. I
called the other men's attention to them and said, "Let's capture those
Indian ponies." You may imagine our surprise when we got near them to
find they were not Indian ponies but good American horses and several of
them had collar marks on them showing that they had been worked lately.
We drove them on to camp, and when we put them in the corral we found
them to be perfectly gentle. Bridger and the balance of the men came to
see them, and every man had his own view where they had come from. But
we never knew for certain whom they belonged to. The next morning we
pulled out very early. The third day we crossed the Sierra Nevada
mountains without any thing of interest happening to us. In two days
more we reached the Sacramento river. We were now about forty miles
above Sacramento City, California. We camped here about the middle of
the afternoon. It being Saturday Jim thought we would rest the balance
of the day. After we had eaten our dinner Jim called all the men of the
train together and told them that they were out of all danger now from
the Indians and would have no further use for a guide and that our
contract with them was ended, and that he and I would like to start back
for New Mexico Monday morning. In a short time they settled up with us,
paying us our due with grateful thanks for our care of them on their
dangerous journey. I now went to the men who were with me when I found
the horses. I said, "Some of those horses belong to you, how many do you
want?"
They all looked surprised, and one said, "They are not our horses, they
are yours. You found them."
I answered, "Now, boys, that is not fair; drive them up and let me
select three and you may have the balance to divide as you choose among
you."
This seemed to please them; and they drove the horses up at once. I
chose the three I liked best, and I afterwards found them all to be good
saddle horses. Bridger and I now went to work making our pack saddles
and getting ready for our long and tedious journey back to New Mexico, a
journey where wild beasts and still wilder savages might lurk behind
any tree or bush, a journey where at that time all one could see for
hundreds of miles was thick forests, and trackless prairies; a journey
of danger and fatigue which the people of this later day of rapid travel
could not be made to understand.
The next morning after breakfast was over a man came to me and said,
Mrs. Lynch and her daughter Lizzie would like to see me. These were the
two ladies I had rescued from the Indians. I had not spoken to them
since I left them with Bridger at the camp near Honey Lake. As I came
near to the elder lady she came to meet me and holding out her hand,
clasping mine she said, "Are you going to leave us tomorrow?"
I answered, "That is what we intended to do."
She then burst into tears, and amid her sobs said, "We can never pay you
for what you have done for us."
At this moment the young girl appeared, and as she gave me her hand her
mother said, "He is going to leave us, and we can never pay him for what
he has done for us"; at this the girl commenced to cry too and it was
some minutes before I could talk to them. When they had quieted down I
said, "Ladies, you owe me nothing, I only done my duty, and I would
do the same thing over again for you or any one else under the
circumstances that existed." Then the elder lady said, "If it hadn't
been for you we might never have seen a white person again."
I asked her, what state they were from. She said they came from Wright
country, Missouri, and that she had a brother there that was amply able
to come and take them back, but she would not ask him to do so for she
never wanted to cross the plains again. She said she had a few dollars
left that the Indians didn't get, and she thought Lizzie and she could
find something to do to get a living. I gave them all the encouragement
I could, bid them good bye and went back to Jim.
By the time dinner was ready Jim and I had our pack saddles and every
thing ready to put on our horses. While we were eating dinner as many as
thirty ladies came to us to inquire what they could give us to take with
us to eat on our journey. I was amused at Bridger. After each lady had
told what she had to give us, some had cakes, some had pie, and some
had boiled meat and some had bread; Jim straightened up and said, "Why
dog-gorn it ladies, we ain't got no wagon and we couldn't take one if we
had one the route we are going which will be through the mountains all
the way with no road or trail. We are going horse back and we can only
take about a hundred pounds on our pack horses. Now, ladies, we are a
thousand times obliged to you all but all we want is some bread and a
little meat, enough to do us a couple of days, and then we will be where
we can shoot all the meat we want; it is a poor hunter that could not
get enough grub for himself in the country we are going through."
The next morning when we were getting ready to start the women commenced
bringing in bread and meat for us and we had to take enough to last us
a week, we could not take less without hurting their feelings. When we
were all ready to start, the whole company came to bid us "good bye."
Men and women, old and young, all came, and amid hand clasps from the
men and tears and smiles from the women we mounted our horses and were
off.
We followed the trail we had come, back as far as Truckey river, and
just below where Reno stands now, we met the remnant of an emigrant
train and according to their story they had had nothing but trouble from
the time they struck the head of Bitter Creek until the day before we
met them. They said they had lost twenty seven men and fourteen women
and a number of cattle and horses. They were very much surprised when we
told them of the train we had just piloted through to California without
losing one that staid with us. We told them of the dreadful fate of old
Mr. Lynch and his son.
As night was coming on we camped in company with these people. Next
morning we crossed Truckey river and struck out in a south east
direction, leaving the site where Virginia city now stands a little to
our right going by the sink of the Carson River. Here we camped and laid
over one day to give our horses a rest. Before we left here we filled
our canteens with water. Bridger told me that for the next fifty miles
it was the poorest watered country in the United States. Said he: "There
is plenty of water, but it is so full of alkali it is not fit to drink;
it is dangerous for both men and beasts."
Jim took the lead all day, and when we came to a little stream of water
he would get down and taste the water while I held the horses to keep
them from drinking. It was about four o'clock that afternoon before we
found water that was fit to drink; here we camped for the night.
Jim said, "From this on we may look for Indians; we are now in the Ute
country and tomorrow night we will be in the Apache country. Now we must
avoid the large streams for the Apaches are almost always to be found
near the large streams at this time of year. Their hunting season is
about over now, and they go to the large streams to catch fish and for
the benefit of a milder climate. If we keep on the high ridges and
mountains away from the large streams we will have no trouble with
the Indians and what is better for us we can get all the game we want
without any exertion."
The next day we were traveling along on a high ridge in the south east
corner of what is now the State of Nevada. We looked off to the south at
a little valley that was perhaps a half a mile from us, and there we saw
a grand sight. There must have been at least a hundred elk and amongst
them two very large old bucks fighting. Their horns were something
immense, and strange to say all the rest of the band stood still,
watching the fight. At last Jim said, "Will, I believe I will break up
that fight."
He jumped to the ground, raised his gun and fired. At the sound of the
gun all of the band ran away except the two who were fighting. I laughed
and said, "Jim, I thought you were going to stop that fight."
He replied, "Give me your gun, and I will stop it."
This time I handed him my gun, and he squatted down and took a rest on
his knee and fired. At the crack of the gun one of the elks fell to his
knees, but got up and ran for all that was in him, and that was the last
we saw of the elk. I told Jim he had spoilt the fun, and we had got no
meat out of it. He grinned and said, "Oh durn it that old elk was too
old to eat any way."
We went on and camped at the head of a little stream that emptied into
Green river. The sun was perhaps an hour high, when we went into camp.
As soon as we had staked out our horses Jim said, "Now Will, I will get
the supper, if you will go out and see if you can get some meat."
I answered, "That suits me to a T. Jim."
I took my gun and started for a little ridge. I had not gone over a
hundred yards when I saw five deer coming directly towards me. Among
them were two spring fawns. I dropped down at the root of a tree and
waited until they came to within fifty yards of me; I then fired and
broke one of the fawns' necks, and the rest of the flock came near
running over me, and over Jim also. I picked up my fawn and went back to
camp. Jim said, "I don't want you to go hunting anymore Will."
I said, "Why not?" He said, "If you do I shall have to stand guard over
the camp to keep the deer from tramping every thing we have into the
ground"; and he pointed to the tracks of the deer not ten feet from the
fire. This convinced us that these deer had never heard the report of a
gun before. We were now in the extreme south east end of Nevada, and I
don't imagine a white man had ever been through that part of the country
before. On this trip we traveled some twelve or fifteen hundred miles,
and we never saw a white person the whole way, and not even the sign of
one.
At this time when a little more than a half of a century has passed
there are portions of this same country that could not be rode over from
the fact that it is all fenced in and cultivated. If we had been told
then that we would live to see railroads crossing every part of this
country we would have thought the person insane to ever think of such a
thing at a time when there was not a foot of rail-road as far west as
Missouri.
We had broiled venison for supper that night, the first we had eaten for
some time, and the reader may be sure we enjoyed it.
Next morning we pulled out of here quite early and crossed Green river
just above the mouth of Blue River. We were now in the greatest game
country I had ever seen then or ever have seen since. We traveled up
this stream three days, and I do not think there was a half an hour at
any one time that we were out of sight of game of some kind. There was
the Bison which is a species of Buffalo, Elk, Deer, Black Bear, and
Antelope. We crossed the main divide of the Rocky Mountains at the head
of the Arkansas River. That night we camped within a few miles of what
since has become the far-famed camp and now city of Leadville.
We were now out of the hostile Indian country, and so we did not have to
be so cautious in traveling days or camping at night.
While we were traveling down the Arkansas river I saw a sight I had
never seen before and never have since. Two Buck Deer locked fast
together by their horns. I had been told of such things and have since,
but that is the only time I ever saw it myself. We were very near them
before we saw them. They were in a little open prairie. I called Jim's
attention to them as soon as I saw them. He said, "I'll be gol durned if
that ain't the second time I ever saw such a sight, and now we will have
some fun out of them bucks."
We dismounted and walked up near them, and by the looks of the ground
which was torn and tramped for quite a distance we decided that they
had been in that condition quite a while. Jim said, "How in the plague,
Will, are we going to get these critters apart? They are too plaguey
poor to eat, so we don't want to kill them, and they will die if we
leave them in this fix; what shall we do, Will?"
I thought a minute and said, "Can't we take our little ax and chop one
of their horns off?"
He said, "I hadn't thought of that, but bring me the ax and I will try
it."
I ran to the pack horse and got the ax. He said, "Now you go back to the
horses; for if I get them loose they may want to fight us."
So I went to the horses and looked back to see what Jim was doing. He
went up to them with the ax drawn ready to strike but it was quite a bit
before they were quiet enough for him to get a good hit at them. At last
he made a strike and down went one of the deer. Instead of striking
the deer's horn he struck him right back of the horn and killed him
instantly; when Jim saw what he had done he made another hit at the dead
buck's horn and freed the live one, which ran thirty or forty yards and
stopped and turned around and shook his head at us a half a dozen times
and then he trotted away as if nothing had happened.
Jim laughed and said, "He never stopped to thank us, did he? Well he
ain't much different from some people." I said, "Why, Jim he meant
"thank you" when he shook his head at us; that is all the way he could
say it, you know," to which he replied, "Well, I saved one of them any
way."
Nothing occurred of interest from this time on until we reached our
journey's end at Taos, New Mexico. Here we found Uncle Kit and his wife
both enjoying good health and a warm welcome for his boy Willie, and his
old friend Jim Bridger.
After supper that night we told Uncle Kit that we had traveled from the
Sacramento river, California to Taos, New Mexico in thirty-three days,
and that we never saw a hostile Indian on the trip, and neither had had
any trouble of any kind to detain us a half an hour on the whole trip.
He said, "That is a wonderful story to hear, when there are so many wild
Indians in that part of the country. Now boys tell me what route you
came."
We marked out the route by different streams and mountains. He looked at
the map we had drawn and said, "I will venture to say there is not two
men in all the country that could make that trip over that route and get
through alive. I will say again, boys, it is some thing wonderful to
think of, and you must have been protected by a higher power than your
selves to get through in safety."
We staid with Uncle Kit a couple of weeks and rested up, and then we
struck out for Bent's Fort to make up our crew to go to our trapping
ground for our winter's work.
Uncle Kit accompanied us to Bent's Fort; and all the trappers were
anxious to get in his employ from the fact that the report had gone out
that the Sioux and the Utes were on the war path, and all the trappers
knew that these two tribes were the strongest hostile tribes in the
west, and when fifty miles from Bent's Fort we never knew that we were
safe and the trappers all had confidence in Uncle Kit's judgment that he
seldom made a mistake in locating his trapping ground, and further
more he had more influence with the Indians than any other man in the
country, so they worked rather for him than take chances with any one
else.
The next morning after we reached Bent's Fort I heard Mr. Bent and Mr.
Roubidoux talking with Carson in regard to the trappers. Mr. Bent said,
"Carson, I wish you would take as many as you can handle, for they all
have an Indian scare on them and are afraid to go out, and every one of
them is indebted to us for board now; and we can not afford to support
them if they loaf around here all winter," to which Carson replied, "I
can handle five or six of them, and that is all I want, I can not afford
to take men out in the mountains and board them all winter for nothing."
After thinking a minute Carson asked, "How many of the men have their
own traps and blankets?"
Mr. Roubidoux said, he thought nearly all of the trappers at the Fort
had their own trapping outfits with them. Carson said he would think
it over and see what he could do for them. That afternoon Carson and
Bridger had a talk with regard to how many men they should take with
them. Uncle Kit said, "We haven't horses enough to carry more than
three or four besides us three." Bridger said, "That will not make any
difference, if they want to go they can foot it from here to the head of
South Platte as that's where we are going to trap this winter; and when
they are through in the spring they can foot it back again. We have
nine pack horses besides our saddle horses, and we can pack out to the
trapping grounds, an outfit for five or six men besides our own all in
good shape."
That afternoon Uncle Kit and Bridger made arrangements with six men
to go with us to the head of South Platte to trap Beaver that winter.
Carson and Bridger agreed to furnish them with flour, coffee, salt, and
tobacco for which Carson and Bridger were to have half of the furs that
each man caught, Carson and Bridger to pack the grub and every thing
else out to the trapping ground and also to pack the furs and all their
other things back to Bent's Fort in the Spring. After Carson and Bridger
had selected the six men they wanted, it seemed as though all the
trappers at the Fort wanted to go with them. Carson told them he had
engaged all he could handle. The next two days we spent in getting ready
to go to our trapping grounds. On the morning of the third day every
thing in readiness we bid farewell to all the people at the Fort and
struck out for the trapping grounds and our winter's work. The men
that had to walk did not wait for us but started as soon as they had
breakfast.
Uncle Kit told them where we would camp the first night. They got there
before we did, and they had killed the fattest deer I ever saw and had
killed a Cub Bear. They were skinning them when we got to camp. The deer
was a spike buck and when he was skinned he was as white as a sheep
from pure fat. The reader may be sure we were not long in unpacking and
getting ready for supper; every one was tired and hungry for we had not
had any thing to eat since morning. For my supper I roasted two of the
cub's feet, and I have never enjoyed a meal since that tasted better.
While we were eating Jim Bridger looked at me and said, "Will, you have
the best of me tonight, but when we get to the Beaver grounds I'll have
a Beaver's tail roasted for my supper and then I'll be even with you."
I never saw a band of men enjoy a meal more than those men did that
night. In this climate people have better appetites than any climate I
have ever been. I think the reason for this was the air was so pure and
invigorating and it naturally required more food to sustain the body and
keep it in good health, and at that time sickness was very rare in that
part of the country. It would seem unreasonable to tell how much meat a
man ate at one meal, especially when out on a trip like this when he was
out in the open air all the time, night as well as day.
The third day after leaving this camp we struck the South Platte river,
and now we had another change of meat, which was mountain sheep. This is
in my opinion the best wild game that roams the forest.
We made an early camp that night and Uncle Kit said to Jim Bridger and
me, "You two boys get the meat for supper and the rest of us will look
after the horses." We picked up our guns and started up the river; we
had not gone far when in looking up on a high bluff we saw a band of
mountain sheep. Jim said, "Now if we can reach that little canyon," and
he pointed to one just ahead of us, "without them fellows seeing us we
will sure have something good for supper." This we succeeded in doing
and then we crawled around until we were within fifty yards of our game.
We selected a couple of spring lambs and fired and brought them both
down. When the men at the camp heard the firing a couple of the men came
running to help us bring our game to camp. We soon had it dressed and
ready for cooking, and it was good and every one of the men ate as if
they enjoyed it as much as I did. While we were eating supper Jim told
us a story of his coming in contact with a panther that had just killed
a sheep, and he said it was a miracle that it did not kill him. He was
coming down a bluff on a little trail and as good luck had it he had
his gun in his hand. The panther had the sheep behind a rock and as the
panther sprang at him he fired and broke its neck.
"It was the luckiest shot I ever fired," said he, "for if I had not had
my gun all ready to fire he would have torn me to pieces before I could
have helped myself."
Uncle Kit said, "Well, Jim, you were in about as close a place as I got
into once. I went out from my camp fire one night perhaps forty yards to
a small tree. I didn't have any pistol or gun with me, I had nothing but
my hunting knife to protect myself with when a half-grown panther sprang
out of the tree on me and, maybe you think I didn't have a lively time
there with him for a few minutes, but I finally got the best of him by
cutting him almost to pieces. He tore my buck skin breeches and coat
pretty near off me and left this scar on my arm before I finished him,"
and Carson pulled his sleeve up and showed us a scar that must have been
torn almost to the bone.
Two days from this we reached the place where we made our headquarters
for the winter. That night the men talked it over and made their plans
how many should camp together. They agreed that there should be three in
each camp as there were nine of us in all. That made the number even in
each camp. Next morning they all put out leaving me to look out for the
horses and things in general.
For the benefit of the reader I will explain how we arranged a camp
where a number of men were associated together in trapping beaver. We
built our camps about four miles apart which gave each camp two miles
square to work on, and this was ample room, for this was a new field and
Beaver was as thick as rats around a wharf.
While they were gone I took my gun and started out to take a little
stroll around where the horses were feeding. I had gone but a short
distance when I looked up. On a mountain, north of me I saw a band of
elk with perhaps seventy five or a hundred in it, and they were coming
directly towards me; I was satisfied in my mind that they were going to
the river to get water. I dropped down behind a log and waited for them
to come close to me. The nearest one was twenty yards from me when I
fired. I shot at a two-year-old heifer and broke her neck. I then went
back to camp to see if any of the men had come in as it was near noon. I
thought some of them would be back and sure enough in a few minutes they
all came together; I told them what I had done, and Uncle Kit said, "Jim
and I will get dinner and the balance of you go and help Willie bring in
his cow."
We found her in fine condition. We soon had her skinned and in camp, and
we found dinner ready when we got back. After dinner Uncle Kit said,
"Come boys let's pack up and move to our camp which is only about a half
a mile from here, and tomorrow, while Jim and me are at work on our
shanty, Willie can help you to move to your quarters, and you can be
building your shanties, so we can get to work as soon as possible."
We gathered every thing together and moved it to the ground where we
were going to make our winter quarters, and Uncle Kit and Jim selected
the place to build our cabin, and the men all turned to and went to
chopping the logs and putting up the cabin. By night the body of the
cabin was almost up, but the reader must bear in mind that this was not
a very large house. It was ten feet one way, and twelve the other, with
a fire place built in one corner. They built the walls of the shack
seven foot high and then covered it with small poles, covered the poles
with fine bows and then there was from six to eight inches of dirt
packed on them and the cracks were stuffed with mud. The door was split
out of logs called puncheons and was fastened together with wooden pins,
driven into holes, bored with an auger. This way of building a house
to live in through the winter may seem strange to the readers who are
accustomed to all the luxuries of the modern home of civilization; but
we considered our cabin very good quarters, and we were very comfortable
that winter.
The first morning after we were settled in our new home we commenced
setting traps for Beaver. Jim Bridger was the lucky man of the whole
outfit in catching Beaver all that winter. Each man had twelve traps
which was called a string, and a number of times that winter Bridger had
a beaver in every one of his traps in the morning. I had watched him set
his traps many times and I tried to imitate him in every particular, but
I never had the luck he had.
Uncle Kit told me a number of times that winter that it was a good
trapper that made an average of catching five Beaver a day, during the
trapping season. We were all very successful this winter. Beaver was
very plentiful, as there had never been any trappers in this part of
the country before, and besides that was an exceptional good winter for
trapping. The winter was quite cold, but there was not much snow all
winter for that country. We stayed here and trapped until the very last
of March, and when we had the furs all baled and ready for packing we
found we did not have horses enough to take them all out at one time, so
Uncle Kit and Jim Bridger packed the seven horses and rode the other two
and struck out for Bent's Fort, telling us they would come back as soon
as they could make the trip; and to our surprise they were back on the
tenth day.
We had everything ready for them to break up camp when they came back,
and we had all we could carry the second time. All of the nine horses
were packed, and we all had to walk to Bent's Fort.
After we left the Platte we took up a stream called Sand Creek which
leads to the divide between the Platte and the Arkansas rivers. After
we camped that night Carson said to the boys, "Now we have had a pretty
good variety of meat this winter, but we haven't had any antelope, but
we are in the greatest country for antelope in the west now. Can't one
of you boys kill one tomorrow for supper? But I am sorry for Jim and
Will for Jim can't get a Beaver's tail off of it, and there won't be any
bear's foot for Will to eat."
Jim answered, "You needn't worry about Will and me, for we may make you
sorry twice, for when we get at the Antelope there may not be enough for
the balance of you."
After breakfast next morning two of the men struck ahead in order to get
the antelope. Near the trail about ten o'clock we overtook them, and
they had killed two nice young antelope. One said that if they had
had ammunition enough with them they could have loaded the train with
antelope. That day we saw a number of bands of antelope, and I venture
to say there were as many as eight hundred or a thousand in each band.
At supper that night Jim Bridger and I convinced Uncle Kit that we had
not lost our appetite, if we didn't have Beaver's tail and Bear's foot
for supper.
The second day after leaving this camp we landed at Bent's Fort about
the middle of the afternoon. That evening and all the next day Carson
and Bridger were counting the pelts and paying off the men for the furs
they had trapped during the winter. Each man had a mark of his own which
he put on all his hides as he took them off the animal. I noticed one
man always clipped the left ear; that was his mark. Having a private
mark for each man saved a great deal of trouble and dispute when the
time came to separate the furs and give each man his due.
I heard Carson and Bridger talking after they had settled with the men,
and Bridger said, "We have done twice as well as I expected we would do
the past winter."
Carson answered, "Jim, we had an extra good crew of men. Every man
worked for all that was in him and when they earned a dollar for
themselves they earned one for us. I am more than satisfied with our
winter's work and what it brought us."
He then asked Jim and me what we intended to do that summer; Jim
answered, "We are going back to Fort Kerney to pilot emigrants across to
California, and it is time we were off now, for I believe by the first
of May there will be lots of emigrants there, and we want to get there,
and get the first train out, and if it is possible we are going to make
two trips across the plains this season."