|WE have said that La Bonté was a philosopher: he took the streaks of
ill luck which checkered his mountain life with perfect carelessness,
if not with stoical indifference. Nothing ruffled his danger-steeled
equanimity of temper; no sudden emotion disturbed his mind. We have seen
how wives were torn from him without eliciting a groan or grumble, (but
such _contretemps_, it may be said, can scarcely find a place in the
category of ills); how the loss of mules and mustangs, harried by
horse-stealing Indians, left him in the _ne plus ultra_ of mountain
misery--afoot; how packs and peltries, the hard-earned beaver of his
perilous hunts, were "raised" at one fell swoop by freebooting bands of
savages. Hunger and thirst, we know, were commonplace sensations to the
mountaineer. His storm-hardened flesh scarce felt the pinging wounds of
arrow-point or bullet; and when in the midst of Indian fight, it is not
probable that any tender qualms of feeling would allay the itching
of his fingers for his enemy's scalp-lock, nor would any remains of
civilized fastidiousness prevent his burying his knife again and again
in the lifeblood of an Indian savage.
Still, in one dark corner of his heart, there shone at intervals a
faint spark of what was once a fiercely-burning fire. Neither time, that
corroder of all thing's, nor change, that ready abettor of oblivion,
nor scenes of peril and excitement, which act as dampers to more quiet
memories, could smother this little smoldering spark, which now and
again--when rarely-coming calm succeeded some stirring passage in the
hunter's life, and left him, for a brief time, devoid of care, and
victim to his thoughts--would flicker suddenly, and light up all the
nooks and corners of his rugged breast, and discover to his mind's eye
that one deep-rooted memory clung there still, though long neglected;
proving that, spite of time and change, of life and fortune,
"On revient toujours à ses premiers amours."
Often and often, as La Bonté sat cross-legged before his solitary
camp-fire, and, pipe in mouth, watched the blue smoke curling upwards
in the clear cold sky, a well-remembered form appeared to gaze upon him
from the vapory wreaths. Then would old recollections crowd before him,
and old emotions, long a stranger to his breast, shape themselves, as it
were, into long-forgotten but now familiar pulsations. Again he felt the
soft subduing influence which once, in days gone by, a certain passion
exercised over his mind and body; and often a trembling seized him, the
same he used to experience at the sudden sight of one Mary Brand,
whose dim and dreamy apparition so often watched his lonely bed, or,
unconsciously conjured up, cheered him in the dreary watches of the long
and stormy winter nights.
At first he only knew that one face haunted his dreams by night, and
the few moments by day when he thought of anything, and this face smiled
lovingly upon him and cheered him mightily. Name he had quite forgotten,
or recalled it vaguely, and, setting small store by it, had thought of
it no more.
For many years after he had deserted his home, La Bonté had cherished
the idea of again returning to his country. During this period he had
never forgotten his old flame, and many a choice fur he had carefully
laid by, intended as a present for Mary Brand; and many a _gage d'amour_
of cunning shape and device, worked in stained quills of porcupine and
bright-colored beads--the handiwork of nimble-fingered squaws--he had
packed in his "possible" sack for the same destination, hoping a time
would come when he might lay them at her feet.
Year after year wore on, however, and still found him, with traps and
rifle, following his perilous avocation; and each succeeding one saw
him more and more wedded to the wild mountain-life. He was conscious
how unfitted he had become again to enter the galling harness of
conventionality and civilization. He thought, too, how changed in
manners and appearance he now must be, and could not believe that he
would again find favor in the eyes of his quondam love, who, he judged,
had long since forgotten him; and inexperienced as he was in such
matters, yet he knew enough of womankind to feel assured that time and
absence had long since done the work, if even the natural fickleness of
woman's nature had lain dormant. Thus it was that he came to forget
Mary Brand, but still remembered the all-absorbing feeling she had once
created in his breast, the shadow of which still remained, and often
took form and feature in the smoke-wreaths of his solitary camp-fire.
If truth be told, La Bonté had his failings as a mountaineer, and--sin
unpardonable in hunter law--still possessed, in holes and corners of his
breast seldom explored by his inward eye, much of the leaven of kindly
human nature, which now and again involuntarily peeped out, as greatly
to the contempt of his comrade trappers as it was blushingly repressed
by the mountaineer himself. Thus, in his various matrimonial episodes,
he treated his dusky _sposas_ with all the consideration the sex could
possibly demand from hand of man. No squaw of his ever humped shoulder
to receive a castigatory and martial "lodge-poling" for offense
domestic; but often has his helpmate blushed to see her pale-face lord
and master devote himself to the feminine labor of packing huge piles
of firewood on his back, felling trees, butchering unwieldy buffalo--all
which are included in the Indian category of female duties. Thus he was
esteemed an excellent _parti_ by all the marriageable young squaws of
Blackfoot, Crow, and Shoshone, of Yutah, Shian, and Arapaho; but after
his last connubial catastrophe, he steeled his heart against all the
charms and coquetry of Indian belles, and persevered in unblessed
widowhood for many a long day.
From the point where we left him on his way to the waters of the
Columbia, we must jump with him over a space of nearly two years, during
which time he had a most uninterrupted run of good luck; trapping with
great success on the head-streams of the Columbia and Yellow Stone--the
most dangerous of trapping-ground--and finding good market for his
peltries at the NorthWest posts--beaver fetching as high a price as
five and six dollars a "plew"--the "golden age" of trappers, now,
alas! never to return, and existing only in the fond memory of the
mountaineers. This glorious time, however, was too good to last. In
mountain language, "such heap of fat meat was not going to shine much
longer."
La Bonté was at this time one of a band of eight trappers, whose
hunting-ground was about the head-waters of the Yellow Stone, which
we have before said is in the country of the Blackfeet. With him were
Killbuck, Meek, Marcelline, and three others; and the leader of the
party was Bill Williams, that old "hard case" who had spent forty years
and more in the mountains, until he had become as tough as the parflêche
soles of his moccasins? They were all good men and true, expert hunters,
and well-trained mountaineers. After having trapped all the streams they
were acquainted with, it was determined to strike into the mountains,
at a point where old Williams affirmed, from the run of the hills,
there must be plenty of water, although not one of the party had
before explored the country, or knew anything of its nature, or of the
likelihood of its affording game for themselves or pasture for their
animals. However, they packed their peltry, and put out for the land
in view--a lofty peak, dimly seen above the more regular summit of the
chain, being their landmark.
For the first day or two their route lay between two ridges of
mountains, and by following the little valley which skirted a creek,
they kept on level ground, and saved their animals considerable
labor and fatigue. Williams always rode ahead, his body bent over his
saddle-horn, across which rested a long heavy rifle, his keen gray eyes
peering from under the slouched brim of a flexible felt-hat, black and
shining with grease. His buckskin hunting-shirt, bedaubed until it had
the appearance of polished leather, hung in folds over his bony carcass;
his nether extremities being clothed in pantaloons of the same material
(with scattered fringes down the outside of the leg--which ornaments,
however, had been pretty well thinned to supply whangs for mending
moccasins or pack-saddles), which, shrunk with wet, clung tightly to his
long, spare, sinewy legs. His feet were thrust into a pair of Mexican
stirrups made of wood, and as big as coal-scuttles; and iron spurs of
incredible proportions, with tinkling drops attached to the rowels, were
fastened to his heel--a bead-worked strap, four inches broad, securing
them over the instep. In the shoulder-belt, which sustained his
powder-horn and bullet-pouch, were fastened the various instruments of
one pursuing his mode of life. An awl, with deer-horn handle, and the
point defended by a case of cherry-wood carved by his own hand, hung at
the back of the belt, side by side with a worm for cleaning the rifle;
and under this was a squat and quaint-looking bullet-mold, the handles
guarded by strips of buckskin to save his fingers from burning when
running balls, having for its companion a little bottle made from the
point of an antelope's horn, scraped transparent, which contained the
"medicine" used in baiting the traps. The old coon's face was sharp
and thin, a long nose and chin hob-nobbing each other; and his head was
always bent forward, giving him the appearance of being hump-backed.
He _appeared_ to look neither to the right nor left, but, in fact
his little twinkling eye was everywhere. He looked at no one he was
addressing, always seeming to be thinking of something else than the
subject of his discourse, speaking in a whining, thin, cracked voice,
and in a tone that left the hearer in doubt whether he was laughing or
crying. On the present occasion he had joined this band, and naturally
assumed the leadership (for Bill ever refused to go in harness), in
opposition to his usual practice, which was to hunt alone. His character
was well known. Acquainted with every inch of the Far West, and with all
the Indian tribes who inhabited it, he never failed to outwit his red
enemies, and generally made his appearance at the rendezvous, from his
solitary expeditions, with galore of beaver, when numerous bands of
trappers dropped in on foot, having been despoiled of their packs and
animals by the very Indians through the midst of whom old Williams had
contrived to pass unseen and unmolested. On occasions when he had been
in company with others, and attacked by Indians, Bill invariably fought
manfully, and with all the coolness that perfect indifference to death
or danger could give, but always "on his own hook." His rifle cracked
away merrily, and never spoke in vain; and in a charge--if ever it
came to that--his keen-edged butcher-knife tickled the fleece of many
a Blackfoot. But, at the same time, if he saw that discretion was the
better part of valor, and affairs wore so cloudy an aspect as to render
retreat advisable, he would first express his opinion in curt terms, and
decisively, and, charging up his rifle, would take himself off and cache
* so effectually that to search for him was utterly useless. Thus, when
with a large party of trappers, when anything occurred which gave him
a hint that trouble was coming, or more Indians were about than he
considered good for his animals, Bill was wont to exclaim--"Do'ee hyar
now, boys, thar's sign about? this hoss feels like câching"; and without
more words, and stoically deaf to all remonstrances, he would forthwith
proceed to pack his animals, talking the while to an old crop-eared
raw-boned Nez-percé pony, his own particular saddle-horse, who in dogged
temper and iron hardiness, was a worthy companion of his self-willed
master. This beast, as Bill seized his apishamore to lay upon its galled
back, would express displeasure by humping its back and shaking its
withers with a wincing motion, that always excited the ire of the old
trapper; and no sooner had he laid the apishamore smoothly on the chafed
skin, than a wriggle of the animal shook it off.
* Hide--from cacher.
"Do'ee hyar now, you darned crittur?" he would whine out, "can't'ee keep
quiet your old fleece now? Isn't this old coon putting out to save yee
from the darned Injuns now, do'ee hyar?" And then, continuing his
work and taking no notice of his comrades, who stood by bantering the
eccentric old trapper, he would soliloquize--"Do'ee hyar now? This
nigger sees sign ahead--he does! he'll be afoot afore long, if he
don't keep his eye skinned--_he_ will. _Injuns_ is all about, they are:
Blackfoot at that. Can't come round this child--they can't, wagh!" And
at last, his pack-animals securely tied to the tail of his horse, he
would mount, and throwing the rifle across the horn of his saddle, and
without noticing his companions, would drive the jingling spurs into his
horse's gaunt sides, and muttering, "Can't come round this child--they
can't!" would ride away; and nothing more would be seen or heard of him
perhaps for months, when they would not unfrequently, themselves bereft
of animals in the scrape he had foreseen, find him located in some
solitary valley, in his lonely camp, with his animals securely picketed
around, and his peltries safe.
However, if he took it into his head to keep company with a party, all
felt perfectly secure under his charge. His iron frame defied fatigue,
and at night, his love for himself and his own animals was sufficient
guarantee that the camp would be well guarded. As he rode ahead, his
spurs jingling and thumping the sides of his old horse at every step, he
managed, with admirable dexterity, to take advantage of the best line
of country to follow--avoiding the gullies and canons and broken ground,
which would otherwise have impeded his advance. This tact appeared
instinctive, for he looked neither right nor left, whilst continuing
a course as straight as possible at the foot of the mountains. In
selecting a camping-site he displayed equal skill: wood, water, and
grass began to fill his thoughts towards sundown; and when these three
requisites for a camping-ground presented themselves, old Bill sprang
from his saddle, unpacked his animals in a twinkling and hobbled them,
struck fire and ignited a few chips (leaving the rest to pack in the
wood), lit his pipe, and enjoyed himself.
On one occasion, when passing through the valley, they had come upon a
band of fine buffalo cows, and, shortly after camping, two of the
party rode in with a good supply of fat fleece. One of the party was a
"greenhorn" on his first hunt, fresh from a fort on Platte, and as yet
uninitiated in the mysteries of mountain cooking. Bill, lazily smoking
his pipe, called to him, as he happened to be nearest, to butcher off
a piece of meat and put it in his pot. Markhead seized the fleece, and
commenced innocently carving off a huge ration, when a gasping roar from
the old trapper caused him to drop his knife. "Ti-ya," growled Bill,
"do'ee hyar, now, you darned greenhorn, do'ee spile fat cow like that
whar you was raised?
"Them doins won't shine in this crowd, boy, do'ee hyar, darn you? What!
butcher meat across the grain! why, whar'll the blood be goin' to, you
precious Spaniard? Down the grain, I say," he continued, in a severe
tone of rebuke, "and let your flaps be long, or out the juice'll run
slick--do'ee hyar, now?" But this heretical error nearly cost the
old trapper his appetite, and all night long he grumbled his horror at
seeing "fat cow spiled in that fashion."
When two or three days' journey brought them to the end of the valley,
and they commenced the passage of the mountain, their march was
obstructed by all kinds of obstacles; although they had chosen what
appeared to be a gap in the chain, and what was in fact the only
practicable passage in that vicinity. They followed the canon of a
branch of the Yellow Stone, where it entered the mountain; but from
this point it became a torrent, and it was only by dint of incredible
exertions that they reached the summit of the ridge. Game was
exceedingly scarce in the vicinity, and they suffered extremely from
hunger, having, on more than one occasion, recourse to the parflêche
soles of their moccasins to allay its pangs. Old Bill, however, never
grumbled; he chewed away at his shoes with relish even, and as long as
he had a pipeful of tobacco in his pouch was a happy man. Starvation
was as yet far off, for all their animals were in existence; but as
they were in a country where it was difficult to procure a remount, each
trapper hesitated to sacrifice one of his horses to his appetite.
From the summit of the ridge, Bill recognized the country on the
opposite side to that whence they had just ascended as familiar to him,
and pronounced it to be full of beaver, as well as abounding in the
less desirable commodity of Indians. This was the valley lying about
the lakes now called Eustis and Biddle, in which are many thermal and
mineral springs, well known to the trappers by the names of the Soda,
Beer, and Brimstone Springs, and regarded by them with no little awe
and curiosity, as being the breathing-places of his Satanic
majesty--considered, moreover, to be the "biggest kind" of "medicine"
to be found in the mountains. If truth be told, old Bill hardly relished
the idea of entering this country, which he pronounced to be of "bad
medicine" notoriety, but nevertheless agreed to guide them to the best
trapping-ground.
One day they reached a creek full of beaver-sign, and determined to
halt here and establish their headquarters, while they trapped in the
neighborhood. We must here observe, that at this period--which was one
of considerable rivalry amongst the various trading companies in the
Indian territory--the Indians, having become possessed of arms
and ammunition in great quantities, had grown unusually daring and
persevering in their attacks on the white hunters who passed through
their country, and consequently the trappers were compelled to roam
about in larger bands for mutual protection, which, although it made
them less liable to open attack, yet rendered it more difficult for them
to pursue their calling without being discovered; for, where one or
two men might pass unseen, the broad trail of a large party, with its
animals, was not likely to escape the sharp eyes of the cunning savages.
They had scarcely encamped when the old leader, who had sallied out a
short distance from camp to reconnoiter the neighborhood, returned with
an Indian moccasin in his hand, and informed his companions that its
late owner and others were about.
"Do'ee hyar, now, boys? thar's _Injuns_ knocking round, and Blackfoot
at that; but thar's plenty of beaver too, and this child means trapping
anyhow."
His companions were anxious to leave such dangerous vicinity; but the
old fellow, contrary to his usual caution, determined to remain where
he was--saying that there were Indians all over the country, for that
matter; and as they had determined to hunt here, he had made up his mind
to--which was conclusive, and all agreed to stop where they were, in
spite of the Indians. La Bonté killed a couple of mountain sheep close
to camp, and they feasted rarely on the fat mutton that night, and were
unmolested by marauding Blackfeet.
The next morning, leaving two of their number in camp, they started in
parties of two, to hunt for beaver-sign and set their traps. Mark-head
paired with one Batiste, Killbuck and La Bonté formed another
couple,'Meek and Marcelline another; two Canadians trapped together,
and Bill Williams and another remained to guard the camp: but this
last, leaving Bill mending his moccasins, started off to kill a mountain
sheep, a band of which animals was visible.
Markhead and his companion, the first couple on the list, followed a
creek, which entered that on which they had encamped, about ten miles
distant. Beaver sign was abundant, and they had set eight traps, when
Markhead came suddenly upon fresh Indian sign, where squaws had passed
through the shrubbery on the banks of the stream to procure water, as he
knew from observing a large stone placed by them in the stream, on
which to stand to enable them to dip their kettles in the deepest
water. Beckoning to his companion to follow, and cocking his rifle,
he carefully pushed aside the bushes, and noiselessly proceeded up the
bank, when, creeping on hands and knees, he gained the top, and, looking
from his hiding-place, descried three Indian huts standing on a little
plateau near the creek. Smoke curled from the roofs of branches, but the
skin doors were carefully closed, so that he was unable to distinguish
the number of the inmates. At a little distance, however, he observed
two or three squaws gathering wood, with the usual attendance of curs,
whose acuteness in detecting the scent of strangers was much to be
dreaded.
Markhead was a rash and daring young fellow, caring no more for Indians
than he did for prairie dogs, and acting ever on the spur of the moment,
and as his inclination dictated, regardless of consequences. He at
once determined to enter the lodges, and attack the enemy should any be
there; and the other trapper was fain to join him in the enterprise. The
lodges proved empty, but the fires were still burning, and meat cooking
upon them, to which the hungry hunters did ample justice, besides
helping themselves to whatever goods and chattels, in the shape of
leather and moccasins, took their fancy.
Gathering their spoil into a bundle, they sought their horses, which
they had left tied under cover of the timber on the banks of the creek;
and, mounting, took the back trail, to pick up their traps and remove
from so dangerous a neighborhood. They were approaching the spot where
the first trap was set, a thick growth of ash and quaking-ash concealing
the stream, when Mark-head, who was riding ahead, observed the bushes
agitated, as if some animal was making its way through them. He
instantly stopped his horse, and his companion rode to his side, to
inquire the cause of this abrupt halt. They were within a few yards of
the belt of shrubs which skirted the stream; and before Markhead had
time to reply, a dozen swarthy heads and shoulders suddenly protruded
from the leafy screen, and as many rifle-barrels and arrows were
pointing at their breasts. Before the trappers had time to turn their
horses and fly, a cloud of smoke burst from the thicket almost in their
faces. Batiste, pierced with several balls, fell dead, and Mark-head
felt himself severely wounded. However, he struck the spurs into his
horse; and as some halfscore Blackfeet jumped with loud cries from their
cover, he discharged his rifle amongst them, and galloped off, a volley
of balls and arrows whistling after him. He drew no bit until he reined
up at the camp-fire, where he found Bill quietly dressing a deer-skin.
That worthy looked up from his work; and seeing Markhead's face
streaming with blood, and the very unequivocal evidence of an
Indian rencontre in the shape of an arrow sticking in his back, he
asked,--"Do'ee feel bad, now, boy? Whar away you see them darned
Blackfoot?"
"Well, pull this arrow out of my back, and maybe I'll feel like
telling," answered Markhead.
"Do'ee hyar, now? hold on till I've grained this cussed skin, will'ee?
Did'ee ever see sich a darned pelt, now? it won't take the smoke
anyhow I fix it." And Markhead was fain to wait the leisure of
the imperturbable old trapper, before he was eased of his annoying
companion.
Old Bill expressed no surprise or grief when informed of the fate of
poor Batiste. He said it was "just like greenhorns, runnin; into them
cussed Blackfoot"; and observed that the defunct trapper, being only a
Vide Poche, * was "no account anyhow." Presently Killbuck and La, Bonté
galloped into camp, with another alarm of Indians. They had also been
attacked suddenly by a band of Blackfeet, but, being in a more open
country, had got clear off, after killing two of their assailants, whose
scalps hung at the horns of their saddles. They had been in a different
direction to that in which Markhead and his companion had proceeded,
and from the signs they had observed, expressed their belief that the
country was alive with Indians. Neither of these men had been wounded.
Presently the two Canadians made their appearance on the bluff,
galloping with might and main to camp, and shouting "Indians! Indians!"
as they came. All being assembled and a council held, it was determined
to abandon the camp and neighborhood immediately. Old Bill was already
packing his animals, and as he pounded the saddle down on the withers of
his old Rosinante, he muttered--"Do 'ee hyar, now? this coon'll cache,
he will." So mounting his horse, and leading his pack-mule by a lariat,
he bent over his saddle-horn, dug his ponderous rowels into the lank
sides of his beast, and, without a word, struck up the bluff and
disappeared.
* Carondelet, creole. (Ed.)
The others, hastily gathering up their packs, and most of them having
lost their traps, quickly followed his example, and "put out." On
cresting the high ground which rose from the creek, they observed thin
columns of smoke mounting into the air from many different points,
the meaning of which they were at no loss to guess. However, they were
careful not to show themselves on elevated ground, keeping as much
as possible under the banks of the creek, when such a course was
practicable; but, the bluffs sometimes rising precipitously from the
water, they were more than once compelled to ascend the banks, and
continue their course along the uplands, whence they might easily be
discovered by the Indians. It was nearly sundown when they left their
camp, but they proceeded during the greater part of the night at
as rapid a rate as possible; their progress, however, being greatly
retarded as they advanced into the mountain, their route lying up
stream. Towards morning they halted for a brief space, but started again
as soon as daylight permitted them to see their way over the broken
ground.
The creek now forced its way through a narrow canon, the banks being
thickly clothed with a shrubbery of cottonwood and quaking-ash. The
mountain rose on each side, but not abruptly, being here and there
broken into plateaus and shelving prairies. In a very thick bottom,
sprinkled with coarse grass, they halted about noon, and removed the
saddles and packs from their wearied animals, picketing them in the best
spots of grass.
La Bonté and Killbuck, after securing their animals, left the camp
to hunt, for they had no provisions of any kind; and a short distance
beyond it, the former came suddenly upon a recent moccasin-track in the
timber. After examining it for a moment, he raised his head with a broad
grin, and, turning to his companion, pointed into the cover, where, in
the thickest part, they discerned the well-known figure of old Bill's
horse, browsing upon the cherry-bushes. Pushing through the thicket in
search of the brute's master, La Bonté suddenly stopped short as the
muzzle of a rifle-barrel gaped before his eyes at the distance of a few
inches, whilst the thin voice of Bill muttered--"Do'ee hyar now, I was
nigh giving'ee h----, I _was_ now. If I didn't think'ee was Blackfoot
I'm dogged now." And not a little indignant was the old fellow that his
câche had been so easily though accidentally discovered. However, he
presently made his appearance in camp, leading his animals and once more
joined his late companions, not deigning to give any explanation as to
why or wherefore he had deserted them the day before, merely muttering,
"Do'ee hyar now? thar's trouble comin'."
The two hunters returned after sundown with a black-tailed deer; and
after eating the better part of the meat, and setting a guard, the party
were glad to roll in their blankets and enjoy the rest they so much
needed. They were undisturbed during the night; but at dawn of day the
sleepers were roused by a hundred fierce yells, from the mountains
enclosing the creek on which they had encamped. The yells were instantly
followed by a ringing volley, the bullets thudding into the trees, and
cutting the branches near them, but without causing any mischief. Old
Bill rose from his blanket and shook himself, and exclaimed "Wagh!" as
at that moment a ball plumped into the fire over which he was standing,
and knocked the ashes about in a cloud. All the mountaineers seized
their rifles and sprang to cover; but as yet it was not sufficiently
light to show them their enemy, the bright flashes from the guns alone
indicating their position. As morning dawned, however, they saw that
both sides of the canon were occupied by the Indians; and, from the
firing, judged there must be at least a hundred warriors engaged in the
attack. Not a shot had yet been fired by the trappers, but as the light
increased, they eagerly watched for an Indian to expose himself, and
offer a mark to their trusty rifles. La Bonté, Killbuck, and old Bill,
lay a few yards distant from each other, flat on their faces, near the
edge of the thicket, their rifles raised before them, and the barrels
resting in the forks of convenient bushes. From their place of
concealment to the position of the Indians--who, however, were scattered
here and there, wherever a rock afforded them cover--was a distance of
about 150 yards, or within fair rifle-shot. The trappers were obliged to
divide their force, since both sides of the creek were occupied; but
such was the nature of the ground, and the excellent cover afforded by
the rocks and bowlders, and clumps of dwarf pine and hemlock, that not a
hand's-breadth of an Indian's body had yet been seen. Nearly opposite La
Bonté, a shelving glade in the mountain-side ended in an abrupt
precipice, and at the very edge, and almost toppling over it, were
several bowlders, just of sufficient size to afford cover to a man's
body. As this bluff overlooked the trappers' position, it was occupied
by the Indians, and every rock covered an assailant. At one point, just
over where La Bonté and Killbuck were lying, two bowlders lay together,
with just sufficient interval to admit a rifle-barrel between them, and
from this breastwork an Indian kept up a most annoying fire. All his
shots fell in dangerous propinquity to one or other of the trappers, and
already Killbuck had been grazed by one better directed than the others.
La Bonté watched for some time in vain for a chance to answer this
persevering marksman, and at length an opportunity offered, by which he
was not long in profiting.
The Indian, as the light increased, was better able to discern his mark,
and fired, and yelled every time he did so, with redoubled vigor. In his
eagerness, and probably whilst in the act of taking aim, he leaned too
heavily against the rock which covered him, and, detaching it from its
position, down it rolled into the canon, exposing his body by its fall.
At the same instant, a wreath of smoke puffed from the bushes which
concealed the trappers, and the crack of La Bonte's rifle spoke the
first word of reply to the Indian challenge. A few feet behind the rock
fell the dead body of the Indian, rolling down the steep sides of the
canon, and only stopped by a bush at the very bottom, within a few yards
of the spot where Markhead lay concealed in some high grass.
That daring fellow instantly jumped from his cover, and drawing his
knife, rushed to the body, and in another moment, held aloft the
Indian's scalp, giving, at the same time, a triumphant whoop. A score of
rifles were leveled and discharged at the intrepid mountaineer; but in
the act many Indians incautiously exposed themselves, every rifle in
the timber cracked simultaneously, and for each report an Indian bit the
dust.
Now, however, they changed their tactics. Finding they were unable to
drive the trappers from their position, they retired from the mountain,
and the firing suddenly ceased. In their retreat they were forced to
expose themselves, and again the whites dealt destruction amongst them.
As the Indians retired, yelling loudly, the hunters thought they had
given up the contest; but presently a cloud of smoke rising from the
bottom immediately below them, at once discovered the nature of their
plans. A brisk wind was blowing up the canon; and, favored by it, they
fired the brush on the banks of the stream, knowing that before this the
hunters must speedily retreat.
Against such a result, but for the gale of wind which drove the fire
roaring before it, they could have provided--for your mountaineer never
fails to find resources on a pinch. They would have fired the brush to
leeward of their position, and also carefully ignited that to windward,
or between them and the advancing flame, extinguishing it immediately
when a sufficient space had thus been cleared over which the flame could
not leap, and thus cutting themselves off from it both above and below
their position. In the present instance they could not profit by such a
course, as the wind was so strong that, if once the bottom caught fire,
they would not be able to extinguish it; besides which, in the attempt,
they would so expose themselves that they would be picked off by the
Indians without difficulty. As it was, the fire came roaring before
the wind with the speed of a racehorse, and, spreading from the bottom,
licked the mountain-sides, the dry grass burning like tinder. Huge
volumes of stifling smoke rolled before it, and in a very few minutes
the trappers were hastily mounting their animals, driving the packed
ones before them. The dense clouds of smoke concealed everything from
their view, and, to avoid this, they broke from the creek and galloped
up the sides of the canon on to the more level plateau. As they attained
this, a band of mounted Indians charged them. One, waving a red blanket,
dashed through the cavallada, and was instantly followed by all the
loose animals of the trappers, the rest of the Indians pursuing with
loud shouts. So sudden was the charge, that the whites had not power
to prevent the stampede. Old Bill, as usual, led his pack-mules by the
lariat; but the animals, mad with terror at the shouts of the Indians,
broke from him, nearly pulling him out of his seat at the same time.
To cover the retreat of the others with their prey, a band of mounted
Indians now appeared, threatening an attack in front, whilst their
first assailants, rushing from the bottom, at least a hundred strong,
assaulted in rear. "Do'ee hyar, boys?" shouted old Bill, "break, or
you'll go under. This child's goin' to câche!" and saying the word, off
he went. _Sauve qui peut_ was the order of the day, and not a moment too
soon, for overwhelming numbers were charging upon them, and the mountain
resounded with savage yells. La Bonté and Killbuck stuck together:
they saw old Bill, bending over his saddle, dive right into the cloud of
smoke, and apparently make for the creek bottom--their other companions
scattering each on his own hook, and saw no more of them for many a
month; and thus was one of the most daring and successful bands broken
up that ever trapped in the mountains of the Far West.
It is painful to follow the steps of the poor fellows who, thus
despoiled of the hardly-earned produce of their hunt, saw all their
wealth torn from them at one swoop. The two Canadians were killed upon
the night succeeding that of the attack. Worn with fatigue, hungry and
cold, they had built a fire in what they thought was a secure retreat,
and, rolled in their blankets, were soon buried in a sleep from which
they never awoke. An Indian boy tracked them, and watched their camp.
Burning with the idea of signalizing himself thus early, he awaited his
opportunity, and noiselessly approaching their resting-place, shot
them both with arrows, and returned in triumph to his people with their
horses and scalps.
La Bonté and Killbuck sought a passage in the mountain by which to cross
over to the headwaters of the Columbia, and there fall in with some of
the traders or trappers of the NorthWest. They became involved in the
mountains, in a part, where was no game of any description, and no
pasture for their miserable animals. One of these they killed for food;
the other, a bag of bones, died from sheer starvation. They had very
little ammunition, their moccasins were worn out, and they were unable
to procure skins to supply themselves with fresh ones. Winter was fast
approaching; the snow already covered the mountains; and storms of
sleet and hail poured incessantly through the valleys, benumbing their
exhausted limbs, hardly protected by scanty and ragged covering. To add
to their miseries, poor Killbuck was taken ill. He had been wounded in
the groin by a bullet some time before, and the ball still remained.
The wound, aggravated by walking and the excessive cold, assumed an ugly
appearance, and soon rendered him incapable of sustained exertion, all
motion even being attended with intolerable pain. La Bonté had made
a shanty for his suffering companion, and spread a soft bed of pine
branches for him, by the side of a small creek at the point where
it came out of the mountain and followed its course through a little
prairie. They had been three days without other food than a piece of
parflêche, which had formed the back of La Bonté's bullet-pouch, and
which after soaking in the creek, they eagerly devoured. Killbuck was
unable to move, and sinking fast from exhaustion. His companion had
hunted from morning till night, as well as his failing strength would
allow him, but had not seen the traces of any kind of game, with the
exception of some old buffalo-tracks, made apparently months before by a
band of bulls crossing the mountain.
The morning of the fourth day, La Bonté as usual rose at daybreak from
his blanket, and was proceeding to collect wood for the fire during his
absence while hunting, when Killbuck called to him, and in an almost
inarticulate voice desired him to seat himself by his side.
"Boy," he said, "this old hoss feels like goin' under, and that afore
long. You're stout yet, and if thar was meat handy, you'd come round
slick. Now, boy, I'll be under, as I said, afore many hours, and if
you don't raise meat you'll be in the same fix. I never eat dead meat *
myself, and wouldn't ask no one to do it neither; but meat fair killed
is meat any way; so, boy, put your knife in this old nigger's lights,
and help yourself. It's 'poor bull,' I know, but maybe it'll do to
keep life in; and along the fleece thar's meat yet, and maybe my old
hump-ribs has picking on'em."
* Carrion.
"You're a good old hoss," answered La Bonté, "but this child ain't
turned nigger yet."
Killbuck then begged his companion to leave him to his fate, and strive
himself to reach game; but this alternative La Bonté likewise generously
refused, and, faintly endeavoring to cheer the sick man, left him
once again to look for game. He was so weak that he felt difficulty
in supporting himself; and knowing how futile would be his attempts to
hunt, he sallied from the camp, convinced that a few hours more would
see the last of him.
He had scarcely raised his eyes, when, hardly crediting his senses, he
saw within a few hundred yards of him an old bull, worn with age, lying
on the prairie. Two wolves were seated on their haunches before
him, their tongues lolling from their mouths, whilst the buffalo was
impotently rolling his ponderous head from side to side, his bloodshot
eyes glaring fiercely at his tormentors, and flakes of foam, mixed with
blood, dropping from his mouth over his long shaggy beard. La Bonté
was transfixed; he scarcely dared to breathe, lest the animal should be
alarmed and escape. Weak as it was, he could hardly have followed it,
and, knowing that his own and companion's life hung upon the success
of his shot, he scarcely had strength to raise his rifle. By dint of
extraordinary exertions and precautions--which were totally unnecessary,
for the poor old bull had not a move in him--the hunter approached
within shot. Lying upon the ground, he took a long steady aim, and
fired. The buffalo raised its matted head, tossed it wildly for an
instant, and, stretching out its limbs convulsively, turned over on its
side and was dead.
Killbuck heard the shot, and, crawling from under the little shanty
which covered his bed, saw, to his astonishment, La Bonté in the act of
butchering a buffalo within two hundred yards of camp. "Hurraw for you!"
he faintly exclaimed; and exhausted by the exertion he had used,
and perhaps by the excitement of an anticipated feast, fell back and
fainted.
However, the killing was the easiest matter, for when the huge carcass
lay dead upon the ground, our hunter had hardly strength to drive the
blade of his knife through the tough hide of the old patriarch. Then,
having cut off as much of the meat as he could carry, eating the while
sundry portions of the liver, which he dipped in the gallbladder by way
of relish, La Bonté cast a wistful look upon the half-starved wolves,
who now loped round and round, licking their chops, only waiting until
his back was turned to fall to with appetite equal to his own, and
capabilities of swallowing and digesting far superior. La Bonté looked
at the buffalo and then at the wolves, leveled his rifle and shot one
dead, at which the survivor scampered off without delay.
Arrived at camp, packing in a tolerable load of the best part of the
animal--for hunger lent him strength--he found poor Killbuck lying on
his back, deaf to time, and to all appearance gone under. Having no
sal-volatile or vinaigrette at hand, La Bonté flapped a lump of raw
fleece into his patient's face, and this instantly revived him.
Then taking the sick man's shoulder, he raised him tenderly into a
sitting posture, and invited, in kindly accents, "the old hoss to feed,"
thrusting at the same time a tolerable slice of liver into his hand,
which the patient looked at wistfully and vaguely for a few short
moments, and then greedily devoured. It was nightfall by the time that
La Bonté, assisted by many intervals of hard eating, packed in the last
of the meat, which formed a goodly pile around the fire.
"Poor bull" it was, in all conscience: the labor of chewing a mouthful
of the tenderloin was equal to a hard day's hunt; but to them, poor
starved fellows, it appeared the richest of meat. They still preserved
a small tin pot, and in this, by stress of eternal boiling, La Bonté
contrived to make some strong soup, which soon restored his sick
companion to marching order. For himself, as soon as a good meal had
filled him, he was strong as ever, and employed himself in drying the
remainder of the meat for future use. Even the wolf, bony as he was, was
converted into meat, and rationed them several days. Winter, however,
had set in with such severity, and Killbuck was still so weak, that La
Bonté determined to remain in his present position until spring, as he
now found that buffalo frequently visited the valley, as it was more
bare of snow than the lowlands, and afforded them better pasture; and
one morning he had the satisfaction of seeing a band of seventeen bulls
within long rifle-shot of the camp, out of which four of the fattest
were soon laid low by his rifle.
They still had hard times before them, for towards spring the buffalo
again disappeared; the greater part of their meat had been spoiled,
owing to there not being sufficient sun to dry it thoroughly; and when
they resumed their journey they had nothing to carry with them, and had
a desert before them without game of any kind. We pass over what they
suffered. Hunger and thirst were their portion, and Indians assaulted
them at times, and many miraculous and hair-breadth escapes they had
from these enemies.