CHAPTER I

IN THE OLD WEST

By George Frederick Ruxton

As it was in the Days of Kit Carson and The "Mountain Men"

Edited by Horace Kephart

Copyright 1915, Outing Publishing Company

INTRODUCTION

|When we bought the Louisiana Territory from Napoleon, in 1803, it was

not from any pressing need of land, for we still had millions of fertile

acres east of the Mississippi. The purchase was made to forestall

complications with foreign powers, either with the arch-conqueror

himself, whose ambition was supposed to be the mastery of the whole

world, or with Great Britain, to which the western country was sure

to fall in case France should be defeated. Possession of Louisiana was

essential to our free navigation of the Mississippi.

The vast domain thus added to our boundaries was _terra incognita_.

Aside from, its strategic importance no one knew what it was good for.

So Lewis and Clark were sent out from the frontier post of St. Louis to

find a route to the Pacific and to report on what the new country was

like.

The only commercial asset that these explorers found which was

immediately available was an abundance of fur-bearing animals. Fur may

be called the gold of that period, and the news that there was plenty of

it in the Rocky Mountains lured many an intrepid spirit of the border.

Companies of traders proceeded at once up the Missouri to barter for

peltries with the Indians.

They established posts and arranged rendezvous in remote fastnesses

of the mountains where they carried on a perilous but very profitable

traffic. At the same time there went into the Far West many independent

adventurers to hunt and trap on their own account.

In the motley ranks of these soldiers of fortune the boldest and most

romantic characters were the free trappers--those who went, as they

expressed it; "on their own hook." The employees of the fur companies

were under strict discipline that checked personal initiative. They were

of the class who work for hire and see no compensation for an arduous

life save the wages earned from their taskmasters. But the free trappers

were accountable to nobody. Each of them fought his own fight and won

the full fruit of his endeavors. Going alone, or in small bands who

acknowledged no captain and would split up whenever the humor moved

them, everyone a law unto himself and relying upon his own strong arm,

they were men picked by nature for great enterprises and great deeds.

It was not love of gain for its own sake that drew the free trappers

into the wilderness. To them a pack of beaver skins was a mere gambler's

stake, to be squandered riotously after the fashion of Jack ashore. What

did compel them to a life of endless wandering and extreme hazard

was the sheer lust of adventure, and a passion for that absolute,

irresponsible freedom that can be enjoyed only in a state of nature.

Never in our history have there been pioneers who took greater risks

than they, or endured harsher vicissitudes, or severed themselves so

completely from the civilization in which they were born. Nowhere, and

at no time, have men of our race been thrown more upon their individual

resources in unknown regions, and through periods of great peril, nor

have there ever been characters more fitly developed to stand such

strain.

Cut off from the repressing and refining influences of civilization,

forever warring with this Indian tribe and cohabiting with that, it was

inevitable that most of these men should revert toward the status of

white barbarians. And yet it would be a grave error, an injustice, to

rate them with mere renegades and desperadoes. The trapper, whatever his

faults, was still every inch a man. Bravest of the brave, yet cool

and sagacious in the strategy of border war, capable in any emergency,

faithful to his own code of honor, generous without limit to everyone

but his foes, loyal to the death, frankly contemptuous of luxury and

caste and affectation, imperial in his self-respect but granting equal

rights to others, there was something heroic in this fierce and uncouth

figure who dominated for a time the vast plains and mountains of the

wild West. And it should not be forgotten that the early traders and

trappers performed an indispensable service to their country that no

other men of their time were able, or at least willing, to do: they were

the explorers, the trail-makers, for western civilization.

General Chittenden, our first authority on the history of the fur trade,

says of the mountain men: "It was the roving trader and the solitary

trapper who first sought out these inhospitable wilds, traced the

streams to their sources, scaled the mountain passes, and explored a

boundless expanse of territory where the foot of the white man had never

trodden before. The Far West became a field of romantic adventure, and

developed a class of men who loved the wandering career of the native

inhabitant rather than the toilsome lot of the industrious colonist.

The type of life thus developed, though essentially evanescent, and

not representing any profound national movement, was a distinct

and necessary phase in the growth of this new country. Abounding in

incidents picturesque and heroic, its annals inspire an interest akin to

that which belongs to the age of knight-errantry. For the free hunter

of the Far West was, in his rough way, a good deal of a knight-errant.

Caparisoned in the wild attire of the Indian, and armed _cap-a-pie_

for instant combat, he roamed far and wide over deserts and mountains,

gathering the scattered wealth of those regions, slaying ferocious

beasts and savage men, and leading a life in which every footstep

was beset with enemies and every moment pregnant of peril. The great

proportion of these intrepid spirits who laid down their lives in that

far country is impressive proof of the jeopardy of their existence. All

in all, the period of this adventurous business may justly be considered

the romantic era of the history of the West....

"It was the trader and trapper who first explored and established the

routes of travel which are now, and always will be, the avenues of

commerce in that region. _They_ were the 'pathfinders' of the West,

and not those later official explorers whom posterity so recognizes.

No feature of western geography was ever _discovered_ by Government

explorers after 1840. Everything was already known, and had been for

fully a decade. It is true that many features, like the Yellowstone

wonderland, with which these restless rovers were familiar, were

afterward forgotten and were re-discovered in later years; but there has

never been a time until very recently when the geography of the West was

so thoroughly understood as it was by the trader and trapper from 1830

to 1840.

"This minute knowledge was of practical use in many ways. When Brigham

Young selected the valley of Great Salt Lake as the future home of his

people, he did so largely upon information derived from the traders.

When the War with Mexico came, the military forces of the United

States invaded New Mexico under the guidance of men who knew every trail

and mountain pass better than the most thorough reconnaissance could

have taught them. When the national troops appeared before the gates of

Santa Fé they were met by a people who had already been virtually won to

the American cause through long intercourse with the traders. When the

rush of emigration to California and Oregon followed, the emigrants

found a highway across the continent already established. When the

Government entered in earnest upon the work of exploration, it was the

veteran mountaineer who was always sought to do service as guide."

It is most unfortunate that there exists in American literature no

intimate and vivid account of the western hunters and trappers by one

who had shared their camps and accompanied them on trail and warpath.

We have many stories of their exploits, written in narrative form, with

scarce any dialogue or characterization. The men themselves figure in

such stories as little more than lay figures in a historical museum. It

is one thing to describe events; it is another thing to make the actors

in those events live and speak in the reader's presence. Generally the

contemporary annals of the fur trade are as dry as a ship's log-book.

The participants in those stirring scenes could not write, and the men

of their time who could write lacked the experience.

What American authors failed to do was accomplished by a young English

sportsman and explorer who lived among the trappers as one of themselves

and acquired their point of view. Although not a professional writer,

he was blest with a knack of putting his experiences, and those of his

companions, so clearly before his readers that one can visualize both

men and deeds without conscious effort. This man was George Frederick

Ruxton, formerly a lieutenant in her Majesty's 89th Regiment.

In _Blackwood's Magazine_ of 1848 there appeared a serial by Ruxton

entitled "Life in the Far West." This story excited so much interest

that it was reprinted in book form, and went through two editions. These

are out of print, and so the work is practically unknown to our reading

public.

"Life in the Far West" * is written in the form of a thinly veiled

romance; but the actors were real, the incidents were real, and they

were strung together in a connected plot simply because that was

the most effective way to show character in action. The story is not

history, of course, but neither is it fable. Nearly every page gives

convincing evidence of the author's intimate personal knowledge of

the scenes and characters portrayed. He had scoured the continent from

Canada to Mexico, from the Mississippi to the Pacific coast. He had

associated with many redoubtable characters of the old West--with men

like Kit Carson, Bill Williams, the Bents, the Sublettes, Joe Meek, St.

Vrain, Fitzpatrick, Killbuck, and La Bonté. He was equally at home

among Americans, Canadians, Creoles, Mexicans, Spanish Californians, and

Indians. Each of these picturesque types he has shown to the life. No

narrative or formal history of that time has described the pioneers of

the Far West with such actual truth and fidelity.

* Here published as "In the Old West."

The wildness of the adventures related by Ruxton led many readers to

suspect that they were mere romance. The author replied, in a letter to

his publishers:--

"I think it would be well to correct a misapprehension as to the truth

or fiction of the paper. It is _no fiction_. There is no incident in it

which has not actually occurred, nor one character who is not well

known in the Rocky Mountains, with the exception of two whose names are

changed." Fully half of the names of Americans mentioned in his book can

be identified today with the men who bore them. Again he wrote:--

"I have brought out a few more softening traits in the characters of the

mountaineers--but not at the sacrifice of truth--for some of them have

their good points; which, as they are rarely allowed to rise to

the surface, must be laid hold of at once before they sink again.

Killbuck--that 'old hoss' _par exemple_, was really pretty much of a

gentleman, as was La Bonté. Bill Williams, another 'hard case,' and Rube

Herring, were 'some' too.

"The scene where La Bonté joins the Chase family is so far true, that he

did make a sudden appearance; but, in reality, a day before the Indian

attack. The Chases (and I wish I had not given the proper name *) did

start for the Platte alone, and were stampeded upon the waters of the

Platte.

"The Mexican fandango _is true to the letter_. It does seem difficult to

understand how they contrived to keep their knives out of the hump-ribs

of the mountaineers; but how can you account for the fact, that, the

other day, 4000 Mexicans, with 13 pieces of artillery, behind strong

intrenchments and two lines of parapets, were routed by 900 raw

Missourians; 300 killed, as many more wounded, all their artillery

captured, as well as several hundred prisoners; and that not one

American was killed in the affair? _This is positive fact_.

"I myself, with three trappers, cleared a fandango at Taos, armed only

with bowie-knives--some score Mexicans, at least, being in the room.

* In accordance with this suggestion, the name was changed

to Brand. The mountaineers, it seems, are more sensitive to

type than to tomahawks; and poor Ruxton, who always

contemplated another expedition among them, would sometimes

jestingly speculate upon his reception, should they learn

that he had shown them up in print.

"With regard to the incidents of Indian attacks, starvation,

cannibalism, &c., I have invented not one out of my own head. They are

all matters of history in the mountains; but I have no doubt jumbled

the _dramatis persono_ one with another, and may have committed

anachronisms." Scholars may detect some inaccuracies here and there,

such as scarcely could be avoided by one who wrote, as we may say, in

the saddle; but these detract nothing from the essential verity of the

book. Ruxton's purpose was not to write a chronicle, but to exhibit

vividly the mountain men and the natives in relation to their

environment. If he wrought disconnected incidents into a continuous

story, and staged men together who may have been a thousand miles apart

at the time, it was only because, to this extent, "fiction is the most

convincing way of telling the truth."

As the author of this book was himself a true knight of the wilderness

whose brief life was filled with thrilling adventures, we append the

following memoir by one of his friends:--

"The London newspapers of October, 1848, contained the mournful tidings

of the death, at St. Louis on the Mississippi, and at the early age of

twenty-eight, of Lieutenant George Frederick Ruxton, formerly of her

Majesty's 89th Regiment, the author of the following sketches:

"Many men, even in the most enterprising periods of our history, have

been made the subjects of elaborate biography with far less title to

the honor than this lamented young officer. Time was not granted him

to embody in a permanent shape a tithe of his personal experiences and

strange adventures in three quarters of the globe. Considering, indeed,

the amount of physical labor he underwent, and the extent of the fields

over which his wanderings spread, it is almost surprising he found

leisure to write so much.

"At the early age of seventeen, Mr. Ruxton quitted Sandhurst, to learn

the practical part of a soldier's profession in the civil wars of Spain.

He obtained a commission in a squadron of lancers then attached to the

division of General Diego Leon, and was actively engaged in several of

the most important combats of the campaign. For his marked gallantry

on these occasions he received from Queen Isabella II. the cross of the

first class of the Order of St. Fernando, an honor which has seldom been

awarded to one so young.

"On his return from Spain he found himself gazetted to a commission in

the 89th Regiment; and it was whilst serving with that distinguished

corps in Canada that he first became acquainted with the stirring scenes

of Indian life, which he has since so graphically portrayed. His eager

and enthusiastic spirit soon became wearied with the monotony of

the barrack-room; and, yielding to that impulse which in him was

irresistibly developed, he resigned his commission, and directed his

steps towards the stupendous wilds tenanted only by the Red Indian, or

by the solitary American trapper.

"Those familiar with Mr. Ruxton's writings cannot fail to have remarked

the singular delight with which he dwells upon the recollections of this

portion of his career, and the longing which he carried with him, to the

hour of his death, for a return to those scenes of primitive freedom.

'Although liable to an accusation of barbarism,' he writes, 'I must

confess that the very happiest moments of my life have been spent in

the wilderness of the Far West; and I never recall but with pleasure the

remembrance of my solitary camp in the Bayou Salade, with no friend near

me more faithful than my rifle, and no companions more sociable than my

good horse and mules, or the attendant cayute which nightly serenaded

us. With a plentiful supply of dry pine-logs on the fire, and its

cheerful blaze streaming far up into the sky, illuminating the valley

far and near, and exhibiting the animals, with well-filled bellies,

standing contentedly at rest over their picket-fire, I would sit

cross-legged, enjoying the genial warmth, and, pipe in mouth, watch the

blue smoke as it curled upwards, building castles in its vapory wreaths,

and, in the fantastic shapes it assumed, peopling the solitude with

figures of those far away. Scarcely, however, did I ever wish to change

such hours of freedom for all the luxuries of civilized life;

and unnatural and extraordinary as it may appear, yet such is the

fascination of the life of the mountain hunter, that I believe not one

instance could be adduced of even the most polished and civilized

of men, who had once tasted the sweets of its attendant liberty, and

freedom from every worldly care, not regretting the moment when he

exchanged it for the monotonous life of the settlements, nor sighing and

sighing again once more to partake of its pleasures and allurements.'

"On his return to Europe from the Far West, Mr. Ruxton, animated with a

spirit as enterprising and fearless as that of Raleigh, planned a scheme

for the exploration of Central Africa, which was thus characterized

by the President of the Royal Geographical Society, in his anniversary

address for 1845: 'To my great surprise, I recently conversed with

an ardent and accomplished youth, Lieutenant Ruxton, late of the 89th

Regiment, who had formed the daring project of traversing Africa in

the parallel of the southern tropic, and has actually started for this

purpose. Preparing himself by previous excursions on foot in North

Africa and Algeria, he sailed from Liverpool early in December last, in

the _Royalist_, for Ichaboe. From that spot he was to repair to Walvish

Bay, where we have already mercantile establishments. The intrepid

traveler had received from the agents of these establishments such

favorable accounts of the nations towards the interior, as also of the

nature of the climate, that he has the most sanguine hopes of being

able to penetrate to the central region, if not of traversing it to the

Portuguese colonies of Mozambique. If this be accomplished, then indeed

will Lieutenant Ruxton have acquired for himself a permanent name among

British travelers, by making us acquainted with the nature of the axis

of the great continent of which we possess the southern extremity.'

"In pursuance of this hazardous scheme, Ruxton, with a single companion,

landed on the coast, of Africa, a little to the south of Ichaboe, and

commenced his journey of exploration. But it seemed as if both nature

and man had combined to baffle the execution of his design. The course

of their travel lay along a desert of moving sand, where no water was

to be found, and little herbage, save a coarse tufted grass and twigs of

the resinous myrrh. The immediate place of their destination was Angra

Peguena, on the coast, described as a frequented station, but which in

reality was deserted. One ship only was in the offing when the travelers

arrived, and to their inexpressible mortification they discovered that

she was outward bound. No trace was visible of the river or streams laid

down in the maps as falling into the sea at this point, and no resource

was left to the travelers save that of retracing their steps--a labor

for which their strength was hardly adequate. But for the opportune

assistance of a body of natives, who encountered them at the very moment

when they were sinking from fatigue and thirst, Ruxton and his companion

would have been added to the long catalogue of those whose lives have

been sacrificed in the attempt to explore the interior of that fatal

country.

"The jealousy of the traders, and of the missionaries settled on the

African coast, who constantly withheld or perverted that information

which was absolutely necessary for the successful prosecution of the

journey, induced Ruxton to abandon the attempt for the present. He made,

however, several interesting excursions towards the interior, and more

especially in the country of the Bosjesmans.

"Finding his own resources inadequate for the accomplishment of his

favorite project, Mr. Ruxton, on his return to England, made application

for Government assistance. But though this demand was not altogether

refused, it having been referred to the Council of the Royal

Geographical Society, and favorably reported upon by that body, so many

delays interposed that Ruxton, in disgust, resolved to withdraw from

the scheme, and to abandon the field of African research which he had

already contemplated from its borders.

"He next bent his steps to Mexico; and, fortunately, has presented

to the world his reminiscences of that country, in one of the most

fascinating volumes which of late years has issued from the press.

"It would however appear that the African scheme, the darling project of

his life, had again recurred to him at a later period; for in the course

of the present spring, before setting out on that journey which was

destined to be his last, the following expressions occur in one of his

letters:--"'My movements are uncertain, for I am trying to get up a

yacht voyage to Borneo and the Indian Archipelago; have volunteered

to Government to explore Central Africa; and the Aborigenes Protection

Society wish me to go out to Canada to organize the Indian tribes;

whilst, for my own part and inclination, I wish to go to all parts of

the world at once.'

"His last letter, written just before his departure from England, a few

weeks previous to his death, will hardly be read by anyone who ever

knew the writer without a tear of sympathy for the sad fate of this

fine young man, dying miserably in a strange land, before he had well

commenced the hazardous journey whose excitement and dangers he so

joyously anticipated:--

"'As you say, human nature can't go on feeding on civilized fixings in

this big village; and this child has felt like going west for many a

month, being "half froze for buffler-meat and mountain doin's." My route

takes me _via_ New York, the Lakes, and St. Louis, to Fort Leavenworth

or Independence, on the Indian frontier. Thence, packing my "possibles"

on a mule, and mounting a buffalo horse (Panchito, if he is alive),

I strike the Santa Fé trail to the Arkansa, away up that river to the

mountains, winter in the Bayou Salade, where Killbuck and La Bonté

joined the Yutes, cross the mountains next spring to Great Salt

Lake--and that's far enough to look forward to--always supposing my hair

is not lifted by Comanche or Pawnee on the scalping route of the Coon

Creeks and Pawnee Fork.'

"Poor fellow! he spoke lightly, in the buoyancy of youth and a confident

spirit, of the fate he little thought to meet, but which too surely

overtook him--not indeed by Indian blade, but by the no less deadly

stroke of disease. Another motive, besides that love of rambling

and adventure which, once conceived and indulged, is so difficult to

eradicate, impelled him across the Atlantic. He had for some time

been out of health at intervals, and he thought the air of his beloved

prairies would be efficacious to work a cure. In a letter to a friend,

in the month of May last, he thus referred to the probable origin of the

evil:--

"'I have been confined to my room for many days, from the effects of an

accident I met with in the Rocky Mountains, having been spilt from the

bare back of a mule, and falling on the sharp picket of an Indian lodge

on the small of my back. I fear I injured my spine, for I have never

felt altogether the thing since, and, shortly after I saw you, the

symptoms became rather ugly. However, I am now getting round again.'

"His medical advisers shared his opinion that he had sustained internal

injury from this ugly fall; and it is not improbable that it was the

remote, but real cause of his dissolution. From whatsoever this ensued,

it will be a source of deep and lasting regret to all who ever enjoyed

opportunities of appreciating the high and sterling qualities of George

Frederick Ruxton. Few men, so prepossessing on first acquaintance,

gained so much by being better known. With great natural abilities

and the most dauntless bravery, he united a modesty and gentleness

peculiarly pleasing.

"Had he lived, and resisted his friends' repeated solicitations to

abandon a roving life and settle down in England, there can be little

doubt that he would have made his name eminent on the lists of those

daring and persevering men, whose travels in distant and dangerous lands

have accumulated for England, and for the world, so rich a store of

scientific and general information. And although the few words it has

been thought right and becoming here to devote to his memory, will

doubtless be more particularly welcome to his personal friends, we are

persuaded that none will peruse without interest this brief tribute to

the merits of a gallant soldier and accomplished English gentleman."

In the present edition no liberties have been taken with the text except

by correcting a few obvious errors, and making the spelling conform to

American usage. Footnotes by the present editor are marked (Ed); those

unsigned are by Ruxton himself.

One useful purpose that this book may serve is to give professional

hunters and trappers their due as hard working men. From time immemorial

it has been the fashion to look down upon their ilk as lazy vagabonds

"too trifling to work for a living." Such is the almost universal

opinion of people who never have taken a big game hunt themselves, never

even have seen hunters at work in the wilderness, but know them only as

they take their well-earned ease after an exhausting chase.

"The lazy hunter" is the most misjudged of men; for really there is

no harder labor than the pursuit of wild animals for a livelihood. The

libelous epithet perhaps came in vogue from the fact that hunting and

trapping are apt to unfit a man for _settled_ habits of industry. Or it

may have come from observing the whole-souled enjoyment with which the

hunter pursues his occupation. We have not yet got rid of the Puritan

notion that no effort is worthy unless it is painful to the spirit.

The freeman of the woods calls his labor sport, and he laughs, in

retrospect, at all the cruel toil, the starving and freezing and broken

bones. Being utterly independent he seldom does things that "go against

the grain," save as he is driven by necessity. But how sharp was the

lash of that necessity, how often it stung body and soul, how many a

hunter "went under," even in the old days when game was in the greatest

abundance, is shown with perfect fidelity to truth in this picture of

"Life in the Far West."

Horace Kephart.

IN THE OLD WEST

CHAPTER I

|AWAY to the head-waters of the Platte, where several small streams run

into the south fork of that river, and head in the broken ridges of the

"Divide" which separates the valleys of the Platte and the Arkansa, were

camped a band of trappers on a creek called Bijou. It was the month of

October, when the early frosts of the coming winter had crisped and dyed

with sober brown the leaves of the cherry and quaking ash belting the

brooks; and the ridges and peaks of the Rocky Mountains were already

covered with a glittering mantle of snow, sparkling in the still

powerful rays of the autumn sun.

The camp had all the appearance of permanency; for not only did it

comprise one or two unusually comfortable shanties, but the numerous

stages on which huge strips of buffalo-meat were hanging in process of

cure, showed that the party had settled themselves here in order to lay

in a store of provisions, or, as it is termed in the language of the

mountains, "to make meat." Round the camp fed twelve or fifteen mules

and horses, their fore-legs confined by hobbles of rawhide; and,

guarding these animals, two men paced backwards and forwards, driving

in the stragglers, ascending ever and anon the bluffs which overhung the

river, and leaning on their long rifles, whilst they swept with

their eyes the surrounding prairie. Three or four fires burned in

the encampment, at some of which Indian women carefully tended sundry

steaming pots; whilst round one, which was in the center of it, four

or five stalwart hunters, clad in buckskin, sat cross-legged, pipe in

mouth.

They were a trapping party from the north fork of Platte, on their way

to wintering-ground in the more southern valley of the Arkansa; some,

indeed, meditating a more extended trip, even to the distant settlements

of New Mexico, the paradise of mountaineers. The elder of the company

was a tall gaunt man, with a face browned by twenty years' exposure

to the extreme climate of the mountains; his long black hair, as yet

scarcely tinged with gray, hanging almost to his shoulders, but his

cheeks and chin clean shaven, after the fashion of the mountain-men. His

dress was the usual hunting-frock of buckskin, with long fringes down

the seams, with pantaloons similarly ornamented, and moccasins of Indian

make. Whilst his companions puffed their pipes in silence, he narrated

a few of his former experiences of western life; and whilst the buffalo

hump-ribs and tenderloin are singing away in the pot, preparing for the

hunters' supper, we will note down the yarn as it spins from his lips,

giving it in the language spoken in the "Far West":--

"'Twas about calf-time, maybe a little later, and not a hundred year ago

by a long chalk, that the biggest kind of rendezvous was held 'to' to

Independence, a mighty handsome little location away up on old Missoura.

A pretty smart lot of boys was camped thar, about a quarter from the

town, and the way the whisky flowed that time was some now, _I_ can tell

you. Thar was old Sam Owins--him as got rubbed out * by the Spaniards

at Sacramenty, or Chihuahuy, this hoss doesn't know which, but he went

under ** anyhow. Well, Sam had his train along, ready to hitch up for

the Mexican country--twenty thunderin' big Pittsburgh wagons; and the

way his Santa Fé boys took in the liquor beat all--eh, Bill?"

* Killed, adapted from the Indian figurative language

** Died.

"_Well_, it did."

"Bill Bent--his boys camped the other side the trail, and they was all

mountain-men, wagh!--and Bill Williams, and Bill Tharpe (the Pawnees

took his hair on Pawnee Fork last spring): three Bills, and them three's

all gone under. Surely Hatcher went out that time; and, adapted from the

Indian figurative language, wasn't Bill Garey along, too? Didn't him and

Chabonard sit in camp for twenty hours at a deck of euker? Them was

Bent's Indian traders up on Arkansa. Poor Bill Bent! them Spaniards made

meat of him. He lost his topknot to Taos. A clever man was Bill Bent as

I ever know'd trade a robe or throw a bufler in his tracks. Old St.

Vrain could knock the hind-sight off him though, when it came to

shootin', and old Silverheels spoke true, she did: 'plumcenter' she was,

eh?"

"Well, she wasn't nothin' else."

"The Greasers * paid for Bent's scalp, they tell me. Old St. Vrain went

out of Santa Fé with a company of mountain-men, and the way they made'em

sing out was slick as shootin'. He 'counted a coup,' did St. Vrain. He

throwed a Pueblo as had on poor Bent's shirt. I guess he tickled that

nigger's hump-ribs. Fort William ** ain't the lodge it was, an' never

will be agin, now he's gone under; but St. Vrain's 'pretty much of a

gentleman,' too; if he ain't, I'll be dog-gone--eh, Bill?"

* The Mexicans are called "Spaniards" or "Greasers" (from

their greasy appearance) by the Western people.

** Bent's Indian trading fort on the Arkansa.

"He is so-o."

"Chavez had his wagons along. He was only a Spaniard anyhow, and some of

his teamsters put a ball into him his next trip, and made a raise of his

dollars, wagh! Uncle Sam hung'em for it, I heard, but can't b'lieve it,

nohow. If them Spaniards wasn't born for shootin', why was beaver made?

You was with us that spree, Jemmy?"

"No _sirre-e_; I went out when Spiers lost his animals on Cimmaron: a

hundred and forty mules and oxen was froze that night, wagh!"

"Surely Black Harris was thar; and the darndest liar was Black

Harris--for lies tumbled out of his mouth like boudins out of a buffer's

stomach. He was the child as saw the putrefied forest in the Black

Hills. Black Harris come in from Laramie; he'd been trapping three year

an' more on Platte and the other side; and, when he got into Liberty, he

fixed himself right off like a Saint Louiy dandy. Well, he sat to dinner

one day in the tavern, and a lady says to him--

"'Well, Mister Harris, I hear you're a great trav'ler.'

"'Trav'ler, marm,' says Black Harris, 'this nigger's no trav'ler; I ar'

a trapper, marm, a mountain-man, wagh!'

"'Well, Mister Harris, trappers are great trav'lers, and you goes over a

sight of ground in your perishinations, I'll be bound to say.'

"'A sight, marm, this coon's gone over, if that's the way your stick

floats. * I've trapped beaver on Platte and Arkansa, and away up on

Missoura and Yaller Stone; I've trapped on Columbia, on Lewis Fork, and

Green River; I've trapped, marm, on Grand River and the Heely (Gila).

I've fout the Blackfoot (and d------d bad Injuns they are); I've raised

the hair * of more than one Apach, and made a Rapaho 'come' afore now;

I've trapped in heav'n, in airth, and h----; and scalp my old head,

marm, but I've seen a putrefied forest.'

* Meaning--if that's what you mean. The "stick" is tied to

the beaver-trap by a string, and, floating on the water,

points out its position, should a beaver have carried it

away.

"'La, Mister Harris, a what?'

"'A putrefied forest, marm, as sure as my rifle's got hind-sights, and

_she_ shoots center. I was out on the Black Hills, Bill Sublette knows

the time--the year it rained fire--and everybody knows when that was. If

thar wasn't cold doins about that time, this child wouldn't say so. The

snow was about fifty foot deep, and the bufler lay dead on the ground

like bees after a beein'; not whar we was tho', for thar was no bufler,

and no meat, and me and my band had been livin' on our moccasins

(leastwise the parflesh **) for six weeks; and poor doins that feedin'

is, marm, as you'll never know. One day we crossed a canyon and over a

divide, and got into a peraira, whar was green grass, and green trees,

and green leaves on the trees, and birds singing in the green leaves,

and this in Febrary, wagh! Our animals was like to die when they see the

green grass, and we all sung out, "Hurraw for summer doins."

* Scalped.

** Soles made of buffalo hide.

"'"Hyar goes for meat," says I, and I jest ups old Ginger at one of

them singing-birds, and down come the crittur elegant; its darned head

spinning away from the body, but never stops singing; and when I takes

up the meat, I finds it stone, wagh! "Hyar's damp powder and no fire to

dry it," I says, quite skeared.

"'"Fire be dogged," says old Rube. "Hyar's a hoss, as'll make fire

come," and with that he takes his axe and lets drive at a cotton wood.

Schr-u-k--goes the axe agin the tree, and out comes a bit of the blade

as big as my hand. We looks at the animals, and thar they stood shaking

over the grass, which I'm dog-gone if it wasn't stone, too. Young

Sublette comes up, and he'd been clerking down to the fort on Platte, so

he know'd something. He looks and looks, and scrapes the trees with

his butcher knife, and snaps the grass like pipe-stems, and breaks the

leaves a-snappin' like Californy shells.

"'"What's all this, boy?" I asks.

"'"Putrefactions," says he, looking smart; "putrefactions, or I'm a

nigger."'

"'La, Mister Harris,' says the lady, 'putrefactions! why, did the leaves

and the trees and the grass smell badly?'

"'Smell badly, marm!' says Black Harris; 'would a skunk stink if he was

froze to stone? No, marm, this child didn't know what putrefaction was,

and young Sublette's varsion wouldn't shine nohow, so I chips a piece

out of a tree and puts it in my trap-sack, and carries it in safe to

Laramie. Well, old Captain Stewart (a clever man was that, though he was

an Englishman), he comes along next spring, and a Dutch doctor chap

was along too. I shows him the piece I chipped out of the tree, and he

called it a putrefaction too; and so, marm, if that wasn't a putrefied

peraira, what was it? For this hoss doesn't know, and he knows fat cow

from poor bull, anyhow.'

"Well, old Black Harris is gone under too, I believe. He went to the

Parks trapping with a Vide Poche Frenchman, who shot him for his bacca

and traps. Darn them Frenchmen, they're no account any way you lays your

sight. (Any bacca in your bag, Bill? this beaver feels like chawing.)

"Well, anyhow, thar was the camp, and they was goin' to put out the

next morning; and the last as come out of Independence was that ar

Englishman. He'd a nor-west * capote on, and a two-shoot gun rifled.

Well, them English are darned fools; they can't fix a rifle any ways;

but that one did shoot some; leastwise he made it throw plum-center. He

made the bufler come, he did, and fout well at Pawnee Fork too. What was

his name? All the boys called him Cap'en, and he got his fixings from

old Choteau; but what he wanted out thar in the mountains, I never jest

rightly know'd. He was no trader, nor a trapper, and flung about his

dollars right smart. Thar was old grit in him, too, and a hair of the

black b'ar at that. ** They say he took the bark off the Shians when

he cleared out of the village with old Beavertail's squaw. He'd been on

Yaller Stone afore that: Leclerc know'd him in the Blackfoot, and up

in the Chippeway country; and he had the best powder as ever I flashed

through life, and his gun was handsome, that's a fact. Them thar locks

was grand; and old Jake Hawken's nephey (him as trapped on Heeley that

time) told me, the other day, as he saw an English gun on Arkansa last

winter as beat all off hand.

* The Hudson's Bay Company, having amalgamated with the

American North-West Company, is known by the name "North-

West" to the southern trappers. Their employés usually wear

Canadian capotes.

** A spice of the devil.

"Nigh upon two hundred dollars I had in my possibles, when I went to

that camp to see the boys afore they put out; and you know, Bill, as I

sat to euchre and seven up till every cent was gone.

"'Take back twenty, old coon,' says Big John.

"'H--'s full of such takes back,' says I; and I puts back to town and

fetches the rifle and the old mule, puts my traps into the sack, gets

credit for a couple of pounds of powder at Owin's store, and hyar I ar

on Bijou, with half a pack of beaver, and running meat yet, old hoss; so

put a log on, and let's have a smoke.

"Hurraw, Jake, old coon, bear a hand, and let the squaw put them tails

in the pot; for sun's down, and we'll have to put out pretty early to

reach Black Tail by this time to-morrow. Who's fust guard, boys? them

cussed Rapahos will be after the animals to-night, or I'm no judge of

Injun sign. How many did you see, Maurice?"

"Enfant de gârce, me see bout honderd, when I pass Squirrel Creek, one

dam water-party, parceque they no hosses, and have de lariats for steal

des animaux. Maybe de Yutas in Bayou Salade."

"We'll be having trouble to-night, I'm thinking, if the devils are

about. Whose band was it, Maurice?"

"Slim-Face---I see him ver close--is out; mais I think it White

Wolf's."

"White Wolf, maybe, will lose his hair if he and his band knock round

here too often. That Injun put me afoot when we was out on Sandy that

fall. This nigger owes him one, anyhow."

"H----'s full of White Wolves: go ahead, and roll out some of your doins

across the plains that time."

"You seed sights that spree, eh, boy?"

"_Well_, we did. Some of 'em got their flints fixed this side of Pawnee

Fork, and a heap of mule-meat went wolfing. Just by Little Arkansa we

saw the first Injun. Me and young Somes was ahead for meat, and I had

hobbled the old mule and was approaching some goats, * when I see the

critturs turn back their heads and jump right away from me. 'Hurraw,

Dick!' I shouts, 'hyar's brown-skin acomin', and off I makes for the

mule. The young greenhorn sees the goats runnin' up to him, and not

being up to Injun ways, blazes at the first and knocks him over. Jest

then seven darned red heads top the bluff, and seven Pawnees come

a-screechin' upon us. I cuts the hobbles and jumps on the mule, and,

when I looks back, there was Dick Somes ramming a ball down his gun like

mad, and the Injuns flinging their arrows at him pretty smart, I tell

you.

* Antelope are frequently called "goats" by the

mountaineers.

'Hurraw, Dick, mind your hair,' and I ups old Greaser and let one Injun

'have it,' as was going plum into the boy with his lance. _He_ turned on

his back handsome, and Dick gets the ball down at last, blazes away, and

drops another. Then we charged on 'em, and they clears off like runnin'

cows; and I takes the hair off the heads of the two we made meat of; and

I do b'lieve thar's some of them scalps on my old leggings yet.

"Well, Dick was as full of arrows as a porky-pine; one was sticking

right through his cheek, one in his meat-bag, and two more 'bout his

hump-ribs. I tuk'em all out slick, and away we go to camp (for they was

jost a-campin' when we went ahead), and carryin' the goat too. Thar

was a hurroo when we rode in with the scalps at the end of our guns.

'Injuns! Injuns!' was the cry from the greenhorns; 'we'll be 'tacked

to-night, that's certain.'

"''Tacked be--------. says old Bill; 'ain't we men too, and white at

that? Look to your guns, boys; send out a strong hoss-guard with the

animals, and keep your eyes skinned.'

"Well, as soon as the animals were unhitched from the wagons, the guvner

sends out a strong guard, seven boys, and old hands at that. It was

pretty nigh upon sundown, and Bill had just sung out to corral. The boys

were drivin' in the animals, and we were all standing round to get'em

in slick, when, 'howgh-owgh-owgh-owgh,' we hears right behind the bluff,

and 'bout a minute and a perfect crowd of Injuns gallops down upon the

animals. Wagh! warn't thar hoopin'! We jump for the guns, but before we

get to the fires, the Injuns were among the cavayard. I saw Ned Collyer

and his brother, who were in the hoss-guard, let drive at'em; but twenty

Pawnees were round'em before the smoke cleared from their rifles; and

when the crowd broke, the two boys were on the ground and their hair

gone. Well, that ar Englishman just saved the cavayard. He had his

horse, a regular buffalo-runner, picketed round the fire quite handy,

and as soon as he sees the fix, he jumps upon her and rides right into

the thick of the mules, and passes through'em, firing his two-shoot

gun at the Injuns; and, by gor, he made two come. The mules, which was

a-snortin' with funk and running before the Injuns, as soon as they

see the Englishman's mare (mules'll go to h---- after a horse, you all

know), followed her right into the Corral, and thar they was safe. Fifty

Pawnees came screechin' after'em, but we was ready that time, and the

way we throw'd'em was something handsome, I tell you. But three of the

hoss-guard got skeared--leastwise their mules did, and carried'em off

into the peraira, and the Injuns, having enough of us, dashed after 'em

right away. Them poor devils looked back miserable now, with about a

hundred red varmints tearin' after their hair, and whooping like mad.

Young Jem Bulcher was the last; and when he seed it was no use, and his

time was nigh, he throw'd himself off the mule, and standing as upright

as a hickory wiping-stick, he waves his hand to us, and blazes away at

the first Injun as come up, and dropped him slick; but the moment after,

you may guess, _he_ died.

"We could do nothin', for, before our guns were loaded, all three were

dead and their scalps gone. Five of our boys got rubbed out that time,

and seven Injuns lay wolf's meat, while a many more went away gut-shot,

I'll lay. Hows'ever, five of us went under, and the Pawnees made a raise

of a dozen mules, wagh!"

Thus far, in his own words, we have accompanied the old hunter in his

tale; and probably he would have taken us, by the time that the Squaw

Chilipat had pronounced the beaver-tails cooked, safely across the grand

prairies--fording Cotton Wood, Turkey Creek, Little Arkansa, Walnut

Creek, and Pawnee Fork--passed the fireless route of the Coon Creeks,

through a sea of fat buffalo-meat, without fuel to cook it; have struck

the big river, and, leaving at the Crossing the wagons destined for

Santa Fé, have trailed us up the Arkansa to Bent's Fort; thence up

Boiling Spring, across the divide over to the southern fork of the

Platte, away up to the Black Hills, and finally camped us, with hair

still preserved, in the beaver-abounding valleys of the Sweet Water, and

Cache la Poudre, under the rugged shadow of the Wind River Mountains;

if it had not so happened, at this juncture, as all our mountaineers

sat cross-legged round the fire, pipe in mouth, and with Indian gravity

listened to the yarn of the old trapper, interrupting him only with an

occasional wagh! or with the exclamations of some participator in the

events then under narration, who would every now and then put in a

corroborative,--"This child remembers that fix," or, "hyar's a nigger

lifted hair that spree," &c.--that a whizzing noise was heard in the

air, followed by a sharp but suppressed cry from one of the hunters.

In an instant the mountaineers had sprung from their seats, and, seizing

the ever-ready rifle, each one had thrown himself on the ground a few

paces beyond the light of the fire (for it was now nightfall); but not

a word escaped them, as, lying close, with their keen eyes directed

towards the gloom of the thicket, near which the camp was placed, with

rifles cocked, they waited a renewal of the attack. Presently the leader

of the band, no other than Killbuck, who had so lately been recounting

some of his experiences across the plains, and than whom no more

crafty woodsman or more expert trapper ever tracked a deer or grained

a beaver-skin, raised his tall leather-clad form, and, placing his hand

over his mouth, made the prairie ring with the wild protracted note

of an Indian war-whoop. This was instantly repeated from the direction

where the animals belonging to the camp were grazing, under the charge

of the horse-guard. Three shrill whoops answered the warning of the

leader, and showed that the guard was on the watch, and understood the

signal. However, with the manifestation of their presence, the Indians

appeared to be satisfied; or, what is more probable, the act of

aggression had been committed by some daring young warrior, who, being

out on his first expedition, desired to strike the first _coup_, and

thus signalize himself at the outset of the campaign. After waiting some

few minutes, expecting a renewal of the attack, the mountaineers in a

body rose from the ground and made towards the animals, with which

they presently returned to the camp; and after carefully hobbling and

securing them to pickets firmly driven into the ground, mounting an

additional guard, and examining the neighboring thicket, they once

more assembled round the fire, relit their pipes, and puffed away the

cheering weed as composedly as if no such being as a Redskin, thirsting

for their lives, was within a thousand miles of their perilous

encampment.

"If ever thar was bad Injuns on these plains," at last growled Killbuck,

biting hard the pipestem between his teeth, "it's these Rapahos, and the

meanest kind at that."

"Can't beat the Blackfeet, anyhow," chimed in one La Bonté, from

the Yellow Stone country, a fine handsome specimen of a mountaineer.

"However, one of you quit this arrow out of my hump," he continued,

bending forwards to the fire, and exhibiting an arrow sticking out

under his right shoulder-blade, and a stream of blood trickling down his

buckskin coat from the wound.

This his nearest neighbor essayed to do; but finding, after a tug, that

it "would not come," expressed his opinion that the offending weapon

would have to be "butchered" out. This was accordingly effected with the

ready blade of a scalp-knife; and a handful of beaver-fur being placed

on the wound, and secured by a strap of buckskin round the body, the

wounded man donned his hunting-shirt once more, and coolly set about

lighting his pipe, his rifle lying across his lap cocked and ready for

use.

It was now near midnight--dark and misty; and the clouds, rolling away

to the eastward from the lofty ridges of the Rocky Mountains, were

gradually obscuring the dim starlight. As the lighter vapors faded from

the mountains, a thick black cloud succeeded them, and settled over the

loftier peaks of the chain, faintly visible through the gloom of night,

whilst a mass of fleecy scud soon overspread the whole sky. A hollow

moaning sound crept through the valley, and the upper branches of the

cotton woods, with their withered leaves, began to rustle with the

first breath of the coming storm. Huge drops of rain fell at intervals,

hissing as they dropped into the blazing fires, and pattering on the

skins with which the hunters hurriedly covered the exposed baggage. The

mules near the camp cropped the grass with quick and greedy bites round

the circuit of their pickets, as if conscious that the storm would soon

prevent their feeding, and already humped their backs as the chilling

rain fell upon their flanks. The prairie wolves crept closer to the

camp, and in the confusion that ensued from the hurry of the trappers

to cover the perishable portions of their equipment, contrived more than

once to dart off with a piece of meat, when their peculiar and mournful

chiding would be heard as they fought for the possession of the ravished

morsel.

When everything was duly protected, the men set to work to spread their

beds; those who had not troubled themselves to erect a shelter, getting

under the lee of the piles of packs and saddles; whilst Killbuck,

disdaining even such care of his carcass, threw his buffalo robe on the

bare ground, declaring his intention to "take" what was coming at all

hazards, and "anyhow." Selecting a high spot, he drew his knife and

proceeded to cut drains round it, to prevent the water running into him

as he lay; then taking a single robe, he carefully spread it, placing

under the end furthest from the fire a large stone brought from the

creek. Having satisfactorily adjusted this pillow, he added another robe

to the one already laid, and placed over all a Navajo blanket, supposed

to be impervious to rain. Then he divested himself of his pouch and

powder-horn, which, with his rifle, he placed inside his bed, and

quickly covered up lest the wet should reach them. Having performed

these operations to his satisfaction, he lighted his pipe by the hissing

embers of the half-extinguished fire (for by this time the rain poured

in torrents), and went the rounds of the picketed animals, cautioning

the guard round the camp to keep their "eyes skinned, for there would be

powder burned before morning." Then returning to the fire, and kicking

with his moccasined foot the slumbering ashes, he squatted down before

it, and thus soliloquized:--

"Thirty year have I been knocking about these mountains from Missoura's

head as far sothe as the starving Gila. I've trapped a heap, * and many

a hundred pack of beaver I've traded in my time, wagh! What has come of

it, and whar's the dollars as ought to be in my possibles? Whar's the

ind of this, I say? Is a man to be hunted by Injuns all his days? Many's

the time I've said I'd strike for Taos, and trap a squaw, for this

child's getting old, and feels like wanting a woman's face about his

lodge for the balance of his days; but when it comes to caching of the

old traps, I've the smallest kind of heart, I have. Certain, the old

State comes across my mind now and again, but who's thar to remember my

old body? But them diggings gets too overcrowded nowadays, and it's

hard to fetch breath amongst them big bands of corncrackers to Missoura.

Beside, it goes against natur' to leave bufler-meat and feed on hog;

and them white gals are too much like picturs, and a deal too 'fofarraw'

(fanfaron). No; darn the settlements, I say. It won't shine, and whar's

the dollars? Hows'ever, beaver's bound to rise; human natur' can't go

on selling beaver a dollar a pound; no, no, that arn't a going to shine

much longer, I know. Them was the times when this child first went to

the mountains: six dollars the plew--old'un or kitten! Wagh! but it's

bound to rise, I says agin; and hyar's a coon knows whar to lay his hand

on a dozen pack right handy, and then he'll take the Taos trail, wagh!"

* An Indian is always "a heap" hungry or thirsty--loves "a

heap"--is "a heap" brave; in fact, "a heap" is tantamount to

very much.

Thus soliloquizing, Killbuck knocked the ashes from his pipe, and placed

it in the gaily ornamented case that hung round his neck, drew his

knife-belt a couple of holes tighter, resumed his pouch and powder-horn,

took his rifle, which he carefully covered with the folds of his Navajo

blanket, and, striding into the darkness, cautiously reconnoitered the

vicinity of the camp. When he returned to the fire he sat himself down

as before, but this time with his rifle across his lap; and at intervals

his keen gray eyes glanced piercingly around, particularly towards an

old weatherbeaten and grizzled mule, who now, old stager as she was,

having filled her belly, stood lazily over her picket-pin, with her head

bent down and her long ears flapping over her face, her limbs gathered

under her, and her back arched to throw off the rain, tottering from

side to side as she rested and slept.

"Yep, old gal!" cried Killbuck to the animal, at the same time picking

a piece of burnt wood from the fire and throwing it at her, at which

the mule gathered itself up and cocked her ears as she recognized her

master's voice. "Yep, old gal! and keep your nose open; thar's brown

skin about, I'm thinkin', and maybe you'll get roped (lasso'd) by a

Rapaho afore mornin'." Again the old trapper settled himself before

the fire; and soon his head began to nod, as drowsiness stole over him.

Already he was in the land of dreams; revelling amongst bands of "fat

cow," or hunting along a stream well peopled with beaver; with no Indian

"sign" to disturb him, and the merry rendezvous in close perspective,

and his peltry selling briskly at six dollars the plew, and galore of

alcohol to ratify the trade. Or, perhaps, threading the back trail of

his memory, he passed rapidly through the perilous vicissitudes of his

hard, hard life--starving one day, reveling in abundance the next; now

beset by whooping savages thirsting for his blood, baying his enemies

like the hunted deer, but with the unflinching courage of a man; now,

all care thrown aside, secure and forgetful of the past, a welcome guest

in the hospitable trading fort; or back, as the trail gets fainter, to

his childhood's home in the brown forests of old Kentuck, tended and

cared for--his only thought to enjoy the hominy and johnny cakes of his

thrifty mother. Once more, in warm and well-remembered homespun, he sits

on the snake-fence round the old clearing, and, munching his hoe-cake at

set of sun, listens to the mournful note of the whip-poor-will, or the

harsh cry of the noisy catbird, or watches the agile gambols of the

squirrels as they chase each other, chattering the while, from branch to

branch of the lofty tamarisks, wondering how long it will be before he

will be able to lift his father's heavy rifle, and use it against the

tempting game. Sleep, however, sat lightly on the eyes of the wary

mountaineer, and a snort from the old mule in an instant stretched his

every nerve. Without a movement of his body, his keen eye fixed itself

upon the mule, which now stood with head bent round, and eyes and ears

pointed in one direction, snuffing the night air and snorting with

apparent fear. A low sound from the wakeful hunter roused the others

from their sleep; and raising their bodies from their well-soaked beds,

a single word apprised them of their danger.

"Injuns!"

Scarcely was the word out of Killbuck's lips, when, above the howling of

the furious wind and the pattering of the rain, a hundred savage yells

broke suddenly upon their ears from all directions round the camp; a

score of rifle-shots rattled from the thicket, and a cloud of arrows

whistled through the air, whilst a crowd of Indians charged upon the

picketed animals. "Owgh! owgh--owgh--owgh--g-h-h!"

"A foot, by gor!" shouted Killbuck, "and the old mule gone at that.

On'em, boys, for old Kentuck!" And he rushed towards his mule, which

jumped and snorted mad with fright, as a naked Indian strove to fasten a

lariat round her nose, having already cut the rope which fastened her to

the picket-pin.

"Quit that, you cussed devil!" roared the trapper, as he jumped upon

the savage, and, without raising his rifle to his shoulder, made a

deliberate thrust with the muzzle at his naked breast, striking him

full, and at the same time pulling the trigger, actually driving the

Indian two paces backwards with the shock, when he fell in a heap, and

dead. But at the same moment, an Indian, sweeping his club round his

head, brought it with frightful force down upon Killbuck. For a moment

the hunter staggered, threw out his arms wildly into the air, and fell

headlong to the ground.

"Owgh! owgh, owgh-h-h!" cried the Rapaho, and, striding over the

prostrate body, he seized with his left hand the middle lock of the

trapper's long hair, and drew his knife round the head to separate the

scalp from the skull. As he bent over to his work, the trapper named La

Bonté saw his companion's peril, rushed quick as thought at the Indian,

and buried his knife to the hilt between his shoulders. With a gasping

shudder the Rapaho fell dead upon the prostrate body of his foe.

The attack, however, lasted but a few seconds. The dash at the animals

had been entirely successful, and, driving them before them with loud

cries, the Indians disappeared quickly in the darkness. Without waiting

for daylight, two of the three trappers who alone were to be seen,

and who had been within the shanties at the time of attack, without a

moment's delay commenced packing two horses, which having been fastened

to the shanties had escaped the Indians, and, placing their squaws upon

them, showering curses and imprecations on their enemies, left the camp,

fearful of another onset, and resolved to retreat and câche themselves

until the danger was over. Not so La Bonté, who, stout and true, had

done his best in the fight, and now sought the body of his old comrade,

from which, before he could examine the wounds, he had first to remove

the corpse of the Indian he had slain. Killbuck still breathed. He had

been stunned; but, revived by the cold rain beating upon his face, he

soon opened his eyes, and recognized his trusty friend, who, sitting

down, lifted his head into his lap, and wiped away the blood that

streamed from the wounded scalp.

"Is the top-knot gone, boy?" asked Killbuck; "for my head feels

queersome, I tell you."

"Thar's the Injun as felt like lifting it," answered the other, kicking

the dead body with his foot.

"Wagh! boy, you've struck a coup; so scalp the nigger right off, and

then fetch me a drink."

The morning broke clear and cold. With the exception of a light cloud

which hung over Pike's Peak, the sky was spotless; and a perfect calm

had succeeded the boisterous storm of the previous night. The creek was

swollen and turbid with the rains; and as La Bonté proceeded a little

distance down the bank to find a passage to the water, he suddenly

stopped short, and an involuntary cry escaped him. Within a few feet of

the bank lay the body of one of his companions, who had formed the guard

at the time of the Indians' attack. It was lying on the face, pierced

through the chest with an arrow which was buried to the very feathers,

and the scalp torn from the bloody skull. Beyond, but all within a

hundred yards, lay the three others, dead, and similarly mutilated. So

certain had been the aim, and so close the enemy, that each had died

without a struggle, and consequently had been unable to alarm the camp.

La Bonté, with a glance at the bank, saw at once that the wily Indians

had crept along the creek, the noise of the storm facilitating their

approach undiscovered, and, crawling up the bank, had watched their

opportunity to shoot simultaneously the four hunters on guard.

Returning to Killbuck, he apprised him of the melancholy fate of their

companions, and held a council of war as to their proceedings. The old

hunter's mind was soon made up. "First," said he, "I get back my old

mule; she's carried me and my traps these twelve years, and I ain't

a-goin' to lose her yet. Second, I feel like taking hair, and some

Rapahos has to go under for this night's work. Third, we have got to

câche the beaver. Fourth, we take the Injun trail, wharever it leads."

No more daring mountaineer than La Bonté ever trapped a beaver, and no

counsel could have more exactly tallied with his own inclination than

the law laid down by old Killbuck.

"Agreed," was his answer, and forthwith he set about forming a câche. In

this instance they had not sufficient time to construct a regular one,

so they contented themselves with securing their packs of beaver in

buffalo robes, and tying them in the forks of several cotton-woods,

under which the camp had been made. This done, they lit a fire, and

cooked some buffalo-meat; and, whilst smoking a pipe, carefully cleaned

their rifles, and filled their horns and pouches with good store of

ammunition.

A prominent feature in the character of the hunters of the Far West is

their quick determination and resolve in cases of extreme difficulty and

peril, and their fixedness of purpose, when any plan of operations has

been laid requiring bold and instant action in carrying out. It is

here that they so infinitely surpass the savage Indian in bringing to a

successful issue their numerous hostile expeditions against the natural

foe of the white man in the wild and barbarous regions of the West.

Ready to resolve as they are prompt to execute, and combining far

greater dash and daring with equal subtlety and caution, they, possess

great advantage over the vacillating Indian, whose superstitious mind

in a great degree paralyzes the physical energy of his active body; and

who, by waiting for propitious signs and seasons before he undertakes

an enterprise, often loses the opportunity by which his white and more

civilized enemy knows so well how to profit.

Killbuck and La Bonté were no exceptions to this characteristic rule;

and before the sun was a hand's-breadth above the eastern horizon,

the two hunters were running on the trail of the victorious Indians.

Striking from the creek where the night attack was made, they crossed to

another known as Kioway, running parallel to Bijou, a few hours' journey

westward, and likewise heading in the divide. Following this to its

forks, they struck into the upland prairies lying at the foot of the

mountains; and crossing to the numerous watercourses which feed the

creek called Vermillion or Cherry, they pursued the trail over the

mountain-spurs until it reached a fork of the Boiling Spring. Here the

war-party had halted and held a consultation, for from this point the

trail turned at a tangent to the westward, and entered the rugged gorges

of the mountains. It was now evident to the two trappers that their

destination was the Bayou Salade, *--a mountain valley which is a

favorite resort of the buffalo in the winter season, and which, and for

this reason, is often frequented by the Yuta Indians as their wintering

ground. That the Rapahos were on a war expedition against the Yutas,

there was little doubt; and Killbuck, who knew every inch of the ground,

saw at once, by the direction the trail had taken, that they were making

for the Bayou in order to surprise their enemies, and, therefore, were

not following the usual Indian trail up the canon of the Boiling Spring

river. Having made up his mind to this, he at once struck across the

broken ground lying at the foot of the mountains, steering a course a

little to the eastward of north, or almost in the direction whence

he had come; and then, pointing westward, about noon he crossed a

mountain-chain, and descending into a ravine through which a little

rivulet tumbled over its rocky bed, he at once proved the correctness of

his judgment by striking the Indian trail, now quite fresh, as it

wound through the canon along the bank of the stream. The route he had

followed, impracticable to pack-animals, had saved at least half-a-day's

journey, and brought them within a short distance of the object of their

pursuit; for, at the head of the gorge, a lofty bluff presenting itself,

the hunters ascended to the summit, and, looking down, descried at

their very feet the Indian camp, with their own stolen cavallada feeding

quietly round.

* The old name of South Park, Colorado. (Ed.)

"Wagh!" exclaimed both the hunters in a breath. "And thar's the old

gal at that," chuckled Killbuck, as he recognized his old grizzled mule

making good play at the rich buffalo grass with which these mountain

valleys abound.

"If we don't make a raise afore long, I wouldn't say so. Thar plans is

plain to this child as beaver sign. They're after Yuta hair, as certain

as this gun has got hind-sights; but they arn't a-goin' to pack them

animals after'em, and have crawled like rattlers along this bottom to

cache'em till they come back from the Bayou,--and maybe they'll leave

half-a-dozen soldiers * with'em."

* The young untried warriors of the Indians are thus called.

How right the wily trapper was in his conjectures will be shortly

proved. Meanwhile, with his companion, he descended the bluff, and

pushing his way into a thicket of dwarf pine and cedar, sat down on a

log, and drew from an end of the blanket strapped on his shoulder, a

portion of a buffalo's liver, which they both discussed, _raw_, with

infinite relish; eating in lieu of bread (an unknown luxury in these

parts) sundry strips of dried fat. To have kindled a fire would have

been dangerous, since it was not impossible that some of the Indians

might leave their camp to hunt, when the smoke would at once have

betrayed the presence of enemies. A light was struck, however, for their

pipes; and after enjoying this true consolation for some time, they laid

a blanket on the ground, and, side by side, soon fell asleep.

If Killbuck had been a prophet, or the most prescient of medicine-men,

he could not have more exactly predicted the movements in the Indian

camp. About three hours before sundown he rose and shook himself, which

movement was sufficient to awaken his companion. Telling La Bonté to

lie down again and rest, he gave him to understand that he was about to

reconnoiter the enemy's camp; and after carefully examining his rifle,

and drawing his knife-belt a hole or two tighter, he proceeded on

his dangerous errand. Ascending the same bluff whence he had first

discovered the Indian camp, he glanced rapidly around, and made himself

master of the features of the ground--choosing a ravine by which

he might approach the camp more closely, and without danger of being

discovered. This was soon effected; and in half an hour the trapper

was lying on his belly on the summit of a pine-covered bluff which

overlooked the Indians within easy rifle-shot, and so perfectly

concealed by the low spreading branches of the cedar and arbor-vitæ,

that not a particle of his person could be detected; unless, indeed, his

sharp twinkling gray eye contrasted too strongly with the green boughs

that covered the rest of his face.

Moreover, there was no danger of their hitting upon his trail, for he

had been careful to pick his steps on the rock-covered ground, so

that not a track of his moccasin was visible. Here he lay, still as a

carcajou in wait for a deer, only now and then shaking the boughs as his

body quivered with a suppressed chuckle, when any movement in the

Indian camp caused him to laugh inwardly at his (if they had known

it) unwelcome propinquity. He was not a little surprised, however, to

discover that the party was much smaller than he had imagined, counting

only forty warriors; and this assured him that the band had divided,

one half taking the Yuta trail by the Boiling Spring, the other (the

one before him) taking a longer circuit in order to reach the Bayou, and

make the attack on the Yutas, in a different direction.

At this moment the Indians were in deliberation. Seated in a large

circle round a very small fire, * the smoke from which ascended in a

thin straight column, they each in turn puffed a huge cloud of smoke

from three or four long cherry-stemmed pipes, which went the round of the

party; each warrior touching the ground with the heel of the pipe-bowl,

and turning the stem upwards and away from him as medicine to the Great

Spirit, before he himself inhaled the fragrant kin-nik-kinnik. The

council, however, was not general, for only fifteen of the older

warriors took part in it, the others sitting outside, and at some little

distance from the circle. Behind each were his arms--bow and quiver,

and shield--hanging from a spear stuck in the ground; and a few guns in

ornamented covers of buckskin were added to some of the equipments.

* There is a great difference between an Indian's fire and a

white's. The former places the ends of logs to burn

gradually; the latter, the center, besides making such a

bonfire that the Indians truly say, "The white makes a fire

so hot that he cannot approach to warm himself by it."

Near the fire, and in the center of the inner circle, a spear was

fixed upright in the ground, and on this dangled the four scalps of the

trappers killed the preceding night; and underneath them, affixed to the

same spear, was the mystic medicine-bag, by which Killbuck knew that the

band before him was under the command of the chief of the tribe.

Towards the grim trophies on the spear, the warriors, who in turn

addressed the council, frequently pointed--more than one, as he did so,

making the gyratory motion of the right hand and arm which the Indians

use in describing that they have gained an advantage by skill or

cunning. Then pointing westward, the speaker would thrust out his arm,

extending his fingers at the same time, and closing and reopening them

repeatedly--meaning, that although four scalps already ornamented the

medicine pole, they were as nothing compared to the numerous trophies

they would bring from the Salt Valley, where they expected to find their

hereditary enemies the Yutas. "That now was not the time to count their

coups" (for at this moment one of the warriors rose from his seat, and,

swelling with pride, advanced towards the spear, pointing to one of the

scalps, and then striking his open hand on his naked breast, jumped into

the air, as if about to go through the ceremony); "that before many suns

all their spears together would not hold the scalps they had taken; and

that they would return to their village, and spend a moon relating their

achievements and counting coups."

All this Killbuck learned,--thanks to his knowledge of the language of

signs--a master of which, if even he have no ears or tongue, never fails

to understand, and be understood by, any of the hundred tribes whose

languages are perfectly distinct and different. He learned, moreover,

that at sundown the greater part of the band would resume the trail, in

order to reach the Bayou by the earliest dawn; and also, that no more

than four or five of the younger warriors would remain with the captured

animals. Still the hunter remained in his position until the sun had

disappeared behind the ridge; when, taking up their arms, and throwing

their buffalo-robes on their shoulders, the war-party of Rapahos, one

behind the other, with noiseless step and silent as the dumb, moved away

from the camp. When the last dusky form had disappeared behind a point

of rocks which shut in the northern end of the little valley or ravine,

Killbuck withdrew his head from its screen, crawled backwards on his

stomach from the edge of the bluff, and, rising from the ground,

shook and stretched himself; then gave one cautious look around, and

immediately proceeded to rejoin his companion.

"_Lave_ (get up), boy," said Killbuck, as soon as he reached him.

"Hyar's grainin' to do afore long--and sun's about down, I'm thinking."

"Ready, old hoss," answered La Bonté, giving himself a shake. "What's

the sign like, and how many's the lodge?"

"Fresh, and five, boy. How do you feel?"

"_Half froze for hair_. Wagh!"

"We'll have moon to-night, and as soon as she gets up, we'll make'em

come."

Killbuck then described to his companion what he had seen, and detailed

his plan. This was simply to wait until the moon afforded sufficient

light, then to approach the Indian camp and charge into it, "lift" as

much "hair" as they could, recover their animals, and start at once

to the Bayou and join the friendly Yutas, warning them of the coming

danger. The risk of falling in with either of the Rapaho bands was

hardly considered; to avoid this they trusted to their own foresight,

and the legs of their mules, should they encounter them.

Between sundown and the rising of the moon they had leisure to eat

their supper, which, as before, consisted of raw buffalo-liver; after

discussing which, Killbuck pronounced himself "a heap" better, and ready

for "huggin'."

In the short interval of almost perfect darkness which preceded the

moonlight, and taking advantage of one of the frequent squalls of wind

which howl down the narrow gorges of the mountains, these two determined

men, with footsteps noiseless as the panther's, crawled to the edge of

the little plateau of some hundred yards square, where the five

Indians in charge of the animals were seated round the fire, perfectly

unconscious of the vicinity of danger. Several clumps of cedar-bushes

dotted the small prairie, and amongst these the well-hobbled mules

and horses were feeding. These animals, accustomed to the presence of

whites, would not notice the two hunters as they crept from clump to

clump nearer to the fire, and also served, even if the Indians should be

on the watch, to conceal their movements from them.

This the two men at once perceived; but old Killbuck knew that if he

passed within sight or smell of his mule, he would be received with a

whinny of recognition, which would at once alarm the enemy. He therefore

first ascertained where his own animal was feeding, which luckily was

at the farther side of the prairie, and would not interfere with his

proceedings.

Threading their way amongst the feeding mules, they approached a clump

of bushes about forty yards from the spot where the unconscious savages

were seated smoking round the fire; and here they awaited, scarcely

drawing breath the while, the moment when the moon rose above the

mountain into the clear cold sky, and gave them light sufficient to make

sure their work of bloody retribution. Not a pulsation in the hearts of

these stem determined men beat higher than its wont; not the tremor of a

nerve disturbed their frame. They stood with lips compressed and rifles

ready, their pistols loosened in their belts, their scalp-knives handy

to their grip. The lurid glow of the coming moon already shot into the

sky above the ridge, which stood out in bold relief against the light;

and the luminary herself just peered over the mountain, illuminating

its pine-clad summit, and throwing her beams on an opposite peak, when

Killbuck touched his companion's arm, and whispered, "Wait for the full

light, boy.",

At this moment, however, unseen by the trapper, the old grizzled mule

had gradually approached, as she fed along the plateau; and, when within

a few paces of their retreat, a gleam of moonshine revealed to the

animal the erect forms of the two whites. Suddenly she stood still and

pricked her ears, and stretching out her neck and nose, snuffed the air.

Well she knew her old master.

Killbuck, with eyes fixed upon the Indians, was on the point of giving

the signal of attack to his comrade, when the shrill whinny of his mule

reverberated through the gorge. The Indians jumped to their feet and

seized their arms, when Killbuck, with a loud shout of "At'em, boy; give

the niggers h----!" rushed from his concealment, and with La Bonté by

his side, yelling a fierce war-whoop, sprang upon the startled savages.

Panic-struck with the suddenness of the attack, the Indians scarcely

knew where to run, and for a moment stood huddled together like sheep.

Down dropped Killbuck on his knee, and stretching out his wiping-stick,

planted it on the ground at the extreme length of his arm. As

methodically and as coolly as if about to aim at a deer, he raised his

rifle to this rest and pulled the trigger. At the report an Indian

fell forward on his face, at the same moment that La Bonté, with equal

certainty of aim, and like effect, discharged his own rifle.

The three surviving Indians, seeing that their assailants were but two,

and knowing that their guns were empty, came on with loud yells. With

the left hand grasping a bunch of arrows, and holding the bow already

bent, and arrow fixed, they steadily advanced, bending low to the ground

to get their objects between them and the light, and thus render their

aim more certain. The trappers, however, did not care to wait for them.

Drawing their pistols, they charged at once; and although the bows

twanged, and the three arrows struck their mark, on they rushed,

discharging their pistols at close quarters. La Bonté threw his empty

one at the head of an Indian who was pulling his second arrow to its

head at a yard's distance, drew his knife at the same moment, and made

at him.

But the Indian broke and ran, followed by his surviving companion; and

as soon as Killbuck could ram home another ball, he sent a shot flying

after them as they scrambled up the mountain-side, leaving in their

fright and hurry their bows and shields on the ground.

The fight was over, and the two trappers confronted each other: "We've

given'em h----!" laughed Killbuck.

"_Well_, we have," answered the other, pulling an arrow out of his arm.

"Wagh!"

"We'll lift the hair, anyhow," continued the first, "afore the scalp's

cold."

Taking his whetstone from the little sheath on his knife-belt, the

trapper proceeded to "edge" his knife, and then stepping to the first

prostrate body, he turned it over to examine if any symptom of vitality

remained. "Thrown cold!" he exclaimed, as he dropped the lifeless arm he

had lifted. "I sighted him about the long ribs, but the light was bad,

and I couldn't get a bead offhand anyhow."

Seizing with his left hand the long and braided lock on the center of

the Indian's head, he passed the point edge of his keen butcher-knife

round the parting, turning it at the same time under the skin to

separate the scalp from the skull; then with a quick and sudden jerk of

his hand, he removed it entirely from the head, and giving the reeking

trophy a wring upon the grass to free it from the blood, he coolly

hitched it under his belt, and proceeded to the next; but seeing La

Bonté operating upon this, he sought the third, who lay some little

distance from the others. This one was still alive, a pistol-ball having

passed through his body without touching a vital spot.

"Gut-shot is this nigger," exclaimed the trapper; "them pistols never

throws'em in their tracks;" and thrusting his knife, for mercy's sake,

into the bosom of the Indian, he likewise tore the scalp-lock from his

head, and placed it with the other.

La Bonté had received two trivial wounds, and Killbuck till now had

been walking about with an arrow sticking through the fleshy part of his

thigh, the point being perceptible near the surface of the other side.

To free his leg from the painful encumbrance, he thrust the weapon

completely through, and then, cutting off the arrowhead below the barb,

he drew it out, the blood flowing freely from the wound. A tourniquet

of buckskin soon stopped this, and, heedless of the pain, the hardy

mountaineer sought for his old mule, and quickly brought it to the

fire (which La Bonté had rekindled), lavishing many a caress, and

most comical terms of endearment, upon the faithful companion of his

wanderings. They found all the animals safe and well; and after eating

heartily of some venison which the Indians had been cooking at the

moment of the attack, made instant preparations to quit the scene of

their exploit, not wishing to trust to the chance of the Rapahos being

too frightened to again molest them.

Having no saddles, they secured buffalo-robes on the backs of two

mules--Killbuck, of course, riding his own--and lost no time in

proceeding on their way. They followed the course of the Indians up the

stream, and found that it kept the canons and gorges of the mountains,

where the road was better; but it was with no little difficulty that

they made their way, the ground being much broken, and covered with

rocks. Kill-buck's wound became very painful, and his leg stiffened

and swelled distressingly, but he still pushed on all night, and at

daybreak, recognizing their position, he left the Indian trail, and

followed a little creek which rose in a mountain-chain of moderate

elevation, and above which, and to the south, Pike's Peak towered high

into the clouds. With great difficulty they crossed this ridge, and

ascending and descending several smaller ones, which gradually smoothed

away as they met the valley, about three hours after sunrise they found

themselves in the south-east corner of the Bayou Salade.

The Bayou Salade, or Salt Valley, is the most southern of three very

extensive valleys, forming a series of tablelands in the very center of

the main chain of the Rocky Mountains, known to the trappers by the name

of the "Parks." The numerous streams by which they are watered abound in

the valuable fur-bearing beaver, whilst every species of game common to

the West is found here in great abundance. The Bayou Salade especially,

owing to the salitrose nature of the soil and springs, is the favorite

resort of all the larger animals common to the mountains; and in the

sheltered prairies of the Bayou, the buffalo, forsaking the barren and

inclement regions of the exposed plains, frequent these upland valleys

in the winter months; and feeding upon the rich and nutritious buffalo

grass, which on the bare prairies at that season is either dry and

rotten or entirely exhausted, not only sustain life, but retain a great

portion of the "condition" that the abundant fall and summer pasture of

the lowlands has laid upon their bones, Therefore is this valley sought

by the Indians as a wintering-ground. Its occupancy has been disputed by

most of the mountain tribes, and long and bloody wars have been waged

to make good the claims set forth by Yuta, Rapaho, Sioux, and Shians. *

However, to the first of these it may be said now to belong, since their

"big village" has wintered there for many successive years; whilst the

Rapahos seldom visit it unless on war expeditions against the Yutas.

* Utahs, Arapahoes, Sioux, and Cheyennes. (Ed.)

Judging, from the direction the Rapahos were taking, that the friendly

tribe of Yutas were there already, the trappers had resolved to join

them as soon as possible; and therefore, without resting, pushed

on through the uplands, and, towards the middle of the day, had the

satisfaction of descrying the conical lodges of the village, situated on

a large level plateau, through which ran a mountain stream. A numerous

band of mules and horses were scattered over the pasture, and round them

several mounted Indians kept guard. As the trappers descended the

bluffs into the plain, some straggling Indians caught sight of them;

and instantly one of them, lassoing a horse from the herd, mounted it,

barebacked, and flew like wind to the village to spread the news. Soon

the lodges disgorged their inmates; first the women and children rushed

to the side of the strangers' approach; then the younger Indians, unable

to restrain their curiosity, mounted their horses, and galloped forth

to meet them. The old chiefs, enveloped in buffalo-robes (softly and

delicately dressed as the Yutas alone know how), and with tomahawk held

in one hand and resting in the hollow of the other arm, sallied last of

all from their lodges; and, squatting in a row on a sunny bank outside

the village, awaited, with dignified composure, the arrival of the

whites. Killbuck was well known to most of them, having trapped in their

country and traded with them years before at Roubideau's fort at

the head waters of the Rio Grande. After shaking hands with all who

presented themselves, he at once gave them to understand that their

enemies, the Rapahos, were at hand, with a hundred warriors at least,

elated by the coup they had just struck against the whites, bringing,

moreover, four white scalps to incite them to brave deeds.

At this news the whole village was speedily in commotion: the war-shout

was taken up from lodge to lodge; the squaws began to lament and tear

their hair; the warriors to paint and arm themselves. The elder chiefs

immediately met in council, and, over the medicine-pipe, debated as to

the best course to pursue--whether to wait the attack, or sally out and

meet the enemy. In the meantime, the braves were collected together by

the chiefs of their respective bands; and scouts, mounted on the fastest

horses, despatched in every direction to procure intelligence of the

enemy.

The two whites, after watering their mules and picketing them in some

good grass near the village, drew near the council fire, without,

however, joining in the "talk," until they were invited to take their

seats by the eldest chief. Then Killbuck was called upon to give

his opinion as to the direction in which he judged the Rapahos to be

approaching, which he delivered in their own language, with which he was

well acquainted. In a short time the council broke up; and without noise

or confusion, a band of one hundred chosen warriors left the village,

immediately after one of the scouts had galloped in and communicated

some intelligence to the chiefs. Killbuck and La Bonté volunteered to

accompany the war-party, weak and exhausted as they were; but this was

negatived by the chiefs, who left their white brothers to the care of

the women, who tended their wounds, now stiff and painful; and spreading

their buffalo-robes in a warm and roomy lodge, left them to the repose

they so much needed.