La Bonté and his companions proceeded up the river, the Black Hills
on their left hand, from which several small creeks or feeders swell
the waters of the North Fork. Along these they hunted unsuccessfully
for beaver “sign,” and it was evident the spring hunt had almost
exterminated the animal in this vicinity. Following Deer Creek to the
ridge of the Black Hills, they crossed the mountain on to the waters
of the Medicine Bow, and here they discovered a few lodges, and La
Bonté set his first trap. He and old Luke finding “cuttings” near
the camp, followed the “sign” along the bank until the practised eye
of the latter discovered a “slide,” where the beaver had ascended
the bank to chop the trunk of a cotton wood, and convey the bark to
its lodge. Taking a trap from “sack,” the old hunter, after setting
the trigger, placed it carefully under the water, where the “slide”
entered the stream, securing the chain to the stem of a sappling
on the bank; while a stick, also attached to the trap by a thong,
floated down the stream, to mark the position of the trap, should the
animal carry it away. A little farther on, and near another “run,”
three traps were set; and over these Luke placed a little stick,
which he first dipped into a mysterious-looking phial containing his
“medicine.”[19]
The next morning they visited the traps, and had the satisfaction of
finding three fine beaver secured in the first three they visited,
and the fourth, which had been carried away, they discovered by the
float-stick, a little distance down the stream, with a large drowned
beaver between its teeth.
The animals being carefully skinned, they returned to camp with the
choicest portions of the meat, and the tails, on which they most
luxuriously supped; and La Bonté was fain to confess that all his
ideas of the superexcellence of buffalo were thrown in the shade by
the delicious beaver tail, the rich meat of which he was compelled to
allow was “great eating,” unsurpassed by “tender loin” or “boudin,” or
other meat of whatever kind he had eaten of before.
The country where La Bonté and his companions were trapping, is very
curiously situated in the extensive bend of the Platte which encloses
the Black Hill range on the north, and which bounds the large expanse
of broken tract known as the Laramie Plains, their southern limit
being the base of the Medicine Bow Mountains. From the north-western
corner of the bend, an inconsiderable range extends to the westward,
gradually decreasing in height until it reaches an elevated plain,
which forms a break in the stupendous chain of the Rocky Mountains,
and affords the easy passage now known as the Great, or South Pass.
So gradual is the ascent of this portion of the mountain, that
the traveller can scarcely believe he is crossing the dividing
ridge between the waters which flow into the Atlantic and Pacific
Oceans, and that in a few minutes he can fling two sticks into two
neighbouring streams, one to be carried thousands of miles, traversed
by the eastern waters in their course to the Gulf of Mexico, the other
to be borne a lesser distance to the Gulf of California.
The country is frequented by the Crows and Snakes, who are at
perpetual war with the Shians and Sioux, following them often far down
the Platte, where many bloody battles have taken place. The Crows are
esteemed friendly to the whites; but when on war expeditions, and
“hair” their object, it is always dangerous to fall in with Indian
war-parties, and particularly in the remote regions of the mountains,
where they do not anticipate retaliation.
Trapping with tolerable success in this vicinity, the hunters crossed
over, as soon as the premonitory storms of approaching winter warned
them to leave the mountains, to the waters of Green River, one of
the affluents of the Colorado, intending to winter at a rendezvous
to be held in “Brown's Hole”—an enclosed valley so called—which,
abounding in game, and sheltered on every side by lofty mountains,
is a favourite wintering-ground of the mountaineers. Here they found
several trapping bands already arrived; and a trader from the Uintah
country, with store of powder, lead, and tobacco, prepared to ease
them of their hardly-earned peltries.
Singly, and in bands numbering from two to ten, the trappers dropped
into the rendezvous; some with many pack-loads of beaver, others with
greater or less quantity, and more than one on foot, having lost his
animals and peltry by Indian thieving. Here were soon congregated many
mountaineers, whose names are famous in the history of the Far West.
Fitzpatrick and Hatcher, and old Bill Williams, well known leaders
of trapping parties, soon arrived with their bands. Sublette came in
with his men from Yellow Stone, and many of Wyeth's New Englanders
were there. Chabonard with his half-breeds, Wah-keitchas all, brought
his peltries from the lower country; and half-a-dozen Shawanee and
Delaware Indians, with a Mexican from Taos, one Marcelline, a fine
strapping fellow, the best trapper and hunter in the mountains, and
ever first in the fight. Here, too, arrived the “Bourgeois” traders
of the “North West”[20] Company, with their superior equipments,
ready to meet their trappers, and purchase the beaver at an equitable
value; and soon the trade opened, and the encampment assumed a busy
appearance.
A curious assemblage did the rendezvous present, and representatives
of many a land met there. A son of _La belle France_ here lit his
pipe from one proffered by a native of New Mexico. An Englishman and
a Sandwich Islander cut a quid from the same plug of tobacco. A Swede
and an “old Virginian” puffed together. A Shawanee blew a peaceful
cloud with a scion of the “Six Nations.” One from the Land of Cakes—a
canny chiel—sought to “get round” (in trade) a right “smart” Yankee,
but couldn't “shine.”
The beaver went briskly, six dollars being the price paid per lb. in
goods—for money is seldom given in the mountain market, where “beaver”
is cash, for which the articles supplied by the traders are bartered.
In a very short time peltries of every description had changed hands,
either by trade, or by gambling with cards and betting. With the
mountain men bets decide every question that is raised, even the most
trivial; and if the Editor of _Bell's Life_ were to pay one of these
rendezvous a winter visit, he would find the broad sheet of his paper
hardly capacious enough to answer all the questions which would be
referred to his decision.
Before the winter was over, La Bonté had lost all traces of civilised
humanity, and might justly claim to be considered as “hard a case”
as any of the mountaineers then present. Long before the spring
opened, he had lost all the produce of his hunt and both his animals,
which, however, by a stroke of luck, he recovered, and wisely “held
on to” for the future. Right glad when spring appeared, he started
from Brown's Hole, with four companions, to hunt the Uintah or Snake
country, and the affluents of the larger streams which rise in that
region and fall into the Gulf of California.
In the valley of the Bear River they found beaver abundant, and
trapped their way westward until they came upon the famed locality of
the Beer and Soda Springs—natural fountains of mineral water, renowned
amongst the trappers as being “medicine” of the first order.
Arriving one evening, about sundown, at the Bear Spring, they found
a solitary trapper sitting over the rocky basin, intently regarding,
with no little awe, the curious phenomenon of the bubbling gas. Behind
him were piled his saddles and a pack of skins, and at a little
distance a hobbled Indian pony fed amongst the cedars which formed a
grove round the spring. As the three hunters dismounted from their
animals, the lone trapper scarcely noticed their arrival, his eyes
being still intently fixed upon the water. Looking round at last,
he was instantly recognised by one of La Bonté's companions, and
saluted as “Old Rube.” Dressed from head to foot in buckskin, his
face, neck, and hands appeared to be of the same leathery texture, so
nearly did they assimilate in colour to the materials of his dress. He
was at least six feet two or three in his moccasins, straight-limbed
and wiry, with long arms ending in hands of tremendous grasp, and
a quantity of straight black hair hanging on his shoulders. His
features, which were undeniably good, wore an expression of comical
gravity, never relaxing into a smile, which a broad good-humoured
mouth could have grinned from ear to ear.
“What, boys,” he said, “will you be simple enough to camp here,
alongside these springs? Nothing good ever came of sleeping here, I
tell you, and the worst kind of devils are in those dancing waters.”
“Why, old hos,” cried La Bonté, “what brings you hyar then, and camp
at that?”
“This niggur,” answered Rube solemnly, “has been down'd upon a sight
too often to be skeared by what can come out from them waters; and
thar arn't a devil as hisses thar, as can 'shine' with this child,
I tell you. I've tried him onest, an' fout him to clawin' away to
Eustis,[21] and if I draws my knife again on such varmint, I'll raise
his hair, as sure as shootin'.”
Spite of the reputed dangers of the locality, the trappers camped on
the spot, and many a draught of the delicious sparkling water they
quaffed in honour of the “medicine” of the fount. Rube, however, sat
sulky and silent, his huge form bending over his legs, which were
crossed, Indian fashion, under him, and his long bony fingers spread
over the fire, which had been made handy to the spring. At last they
elicited from him that he had sought this spot for the purpose of
“_making medicine_,” having been persecuted by extraordinary ill luck,
even at this early period of his hunt—the Indians having stolen two
out of his three animals, and three of his half-dozen traps. He had,
therefore, sought the springs for the purpose of invoking the fountain
spirits, which, a perfect Indian in his simple heart, he implicitly
believed to inhabit their mysterious waters. When the others had, as
he thought, fallen asleep, La Bonté observed the ill-starred trapper
take from his pouch a curiously carved red stone pipe, which he
carefully charged with tobacco and kinnik-kinnik. Then approaching
the spring, he walked three times round it, and gravely sat himself
down. Striking fire with his flint and steel, he lit his pipe, and,
bending the stem three several times towards the water, he inhaled a
vast quantity of smoke, and bending back his neck and looking upwards,
puffed it into the air. He then blew another puff towards the four
points of the compass, and emptying the pipe into his hand, cast the
consecrated contents into the spring, saying a few Indian “medicine”
words of cabalistic import. Having performed the ceremony to his
satisfaction, he returned to the fire, smoked a pipe on his own hook,
and turned into his buffalo robe, conscious of having done a most
important duty.
In the course of their trapping expedition, and accompanied by Rube,
who knew the country well, they passed near the Great Salt Lake, a
vast inland sea, whose salitrose waters cover an extent of upwards of
one hundred and forty miles in length, by eighty in breadth. Fed by
several streams, of which the Big Bear River is the most considerable,
this lake presents the curious phenomenon of a vast body of water
without any known outlet. According to the trappers, an island,
from which rises a chain of lofty mountains, nearly divides the
north-western portion of the lake, whilst a smaller one, within twelve
miles of the northern shore, rises six hundred feet from the level of
the water. Rube declared to his companions that the larger island was
known by the Indians to be inhabited by a race of giants, with whom no
communication had ever been held by mortal man; and but for the casual
wafting to the shores of the lake of logs of gigantic trees, cut by
axes of extraordinary size, the world would never have known that such
a people existed. They were, moreover, white as themselves, and lived
upon corn and fruits, and rode on elephants, &c.
Whilst following a small creek at the south-west extremity of the
lake, they came upon a band of miserable Indians, who, from the fact
of their subsisting chiefly on roots, are called the Diggers. At
first sight of the whites they immediately fled from their wretched
huts, and made towards the mountain; but one of the trappers,
galloping up on his horse, cut off their retreat, and drove them
like sheep before him back to their village. A few of these wretched
creatures came into camp at sundown, and were regaled with such meat
as the larder afforded. They appeared to have no other food in their
village but bags of dried ants and their larvæ, and a few roots of the
yampah. Their huts were constructed of a few bushes of grease-wood,
piled up as a sort of breakwind, in which they huddled in their filthy
skins. During the night, they crawled up to the camp and stole two of
the horses, and the next morning not a sign of them was visible. Now
La Bonté witnessed a case of mountain law, and the practical effects
of the “lex talionis” of the Far West.
The trail of the runaway Diggers bore to the north-west, or along the
skirt of a barren waterless desert, which stretches far away from the
southern shores of the Salt Lake to the borders of Upper California.
La Bonté, with three others, determined to follow the thieves,
recover their animals, and then rejoin the other two (Luke and Rube)
on a creek two days' journey from their present camp. Starting at
sunrise, they rode on at a rapid pace all day, closely following the
trail, which led directly to the north-west, through a wretched sandy
country, without game or water. From the appearance of the track,
the Indians must still have been several hours ahead of them, when
the fatigue of their horses, suffering from want of grass and water,
compelled them to camp near the head of a small water-course, where
they luckily found a hole containing a little water, and whence a
broad Indian trail passed, apparently frequently used. Long before
daylight they were again in the saddle, and, after proceeding a few
miles, saw the lights of several fires a short distance ahead of them.
Halting here, one of the party advanced on foot to reconnoitre, and
presently returned with the intelligence that the party they were in
pursuit of had joined a village numbering thirty or forty huts.
Loosening their girths, they permitted their tired animals to feed
on the scanty herbage which presented itself, whilst they refreshed
themselves with a pipe of tobacco—for they had no meat of any
description with them, and the country afforded no game. As the first
streak of dawn appeared in the east, they mounted their horses, after
first examining their rifles, and moved cautiously towards the Indian
village. As it was scarcely light enough for their operations, they
waited behind a sandhill in the vicinity, until objects became more
distinct, and then, emerging from their cover with loud war-whoops,
they charged abreast into the midst of the village.
As the frightened Indians were scarcely risen from their beds, no
opposition was given to the daring mountaineers, who, rushing upon
the flying crowd, discharged their rifles at close quarters, and
then, springing from their horses, attacked them knife in hand, and
only ceased the work of butchery when nine Indians lay dead upon the
ground. All this time the women, half dead with fright, were huddled
together on the ground, howling piteously; and the mountaineers
advancing to them, whirled their lassos round their heads, and
throwing the open nooses into the midst, hauled out three of them,
and securing their arms in the rope, bound them to a tree, and then
proceeded to scalp the dead bodies. Whilst they were engaged in this
work, an old Indian, withered and grisly, and hardly bigger than an
ape, suddenly emerged from a rock, holding in his left hand a bow
and a handful of arrows, whilst one was already drawn to the head.
Running towards them, and almost before the hunters were aware of
his presence, he discharged an arrow at a few yards' distance, which
buried itself in the ground not a foot from La Bonté's head as he bent
over the body of the Indian he was scalping; and hardly had the whiz
ceased, when whirr flew another, striking him in his right shoulder.
Before the Indian could fit a third arrow to his bow, La Bonté sprang
upon him, seized him by the middle, and spinning his pigmy form round
his head, as easily as he would have twirled a tomahawk, he threw
him with tremendous force on the ground at the feet of one of his
companions, who, stooping down, coolly thrust his knife into the
Indian's breast, and quickly tore off his scalp.
The slaughter over, without casting an eye to the captive squaws,
the trappers proceeded to search the village for food, of which they
stood much in need. Nothing, however, was found but a few bags of
dried ants, which, after eating voraciously of, but with wry mouths,
they threw aside, saying the food was worse than “poor bull.” They
found, however, the animals they had been robbed of, and two more
besides,—wretched half-starved creatures; and on these mounting their
captives, they hurried away on their journey back to their companions,
the distance being computed at three days' travel from their present
position. However, they thought, by taking a more direct course, they
might find better pasture for their animals, and water, besides saving
at least half a day by the short cut. To their cost, they proved the
old saying, that “a short cut is always a long road,” as will be
presently shown.
It has been said that from the south-western extremity of the Great
Salt Lake a vast desert extends for hundreds of miles, unbroken by the
slightest vegetation, destitute of game and water, and presenting a
cheerless expanse of sandy plain, or rugged mountain, thinly covered
with dwarf pine or cedar, the only evidence of vegetable life. Into
this desert, ignorant of the country, the trappers struck, intending
to make their short cut; and, travelling on all day, were compelled to
camp at night, without water or pasture for their exhausted animals,
and themselves ravenous with hunger and parched with thirst. The next
day three of their animals “gave out,” and they were fain to leave
them behind; but imagining that they must soon strike a creek, they
pushed on until noon, but still no water presented itself, nor a sign
of game of any description. The animals were nearly exhausted, and a
horse which could scarcely keep up with the slow pace of the others
was killed, and its blood greedily drunk; a portion of the flesh being
eaten raw, and a supply carried with them for future emergencies.
The next morning two of the horses lay dead at their pickets, and one
only remained, and this in such a miserable state that it could not
possibly have travelled six miles further. It was, therefore, killed,
and its blood drunk, of which, however, the captive squaws refused
to partake. The men began to feel the effects of their consuming
thirst, which the hot horse's blood only served to increase; their
lips became parched and swollen, their eyes blood-shot, and a giddy
sickness seized them at intervals. About mid-day they came in sight
of a mountain on their right hand, which appeared to be more thickly
clothed with vegetation; and arguing from this that water would be
found there, they left their course and made towards it, although
some eight or ten miles distant. On arriving at the base, the most
minute search failed to discover the slightest traces of water, and
the vegetation merely consisted of dwarf piñon and cedar. With their
sufferings increased by the exertions they had used in reaching the
mountain, they once more sought the trail, but every step told on
their exhausted frames. The sun was very powerful, the sand over which
they floundered was deep and heavy, and, to complete their sufferings
a high wind blew it in their faces, filling their mouths and noses
with its searching particles.
Still they struggled onwards manfully, and not a murmur was heard
until their hunger had entered the _second stage_ upon the road to
starvation. They had now been three days without food or water; under
which privation nature can hardly sustain herself for a much longer
period. On the fourth morning, the men looked wolfish, their captives
following behind in sullen and perfect indifference, occasionally
stooping down to catch a beetle if one presented itself, and greedily
devouring it. A man named Forey, a Canadian half-breed, was the first
to complain. “If this lasted another sundown,” he said, “some of them
would 'be rubbed out;' that meat had to be 'raised' anyhow; and for
his part, he knew where to look for a feed, if no game was seen before
they put out of camp on the morrow; and meat was meat, anyhow they
fixed it.”
No answer was made to this, though his companions well understood
him: their natures as yet revolted against the last expedient. As for
the three squaws, all of them young girls, they followed behind their
captors without a word of complaint, and with the stoical indifference
to pain and suffering, which alike characterises the haughty Delaware
of the north and the miserable stunted Digger of the deserts of the
Far West. On the morning of the fifth day, the party were seated
round a small fire of piñon, hardly able to rise and commence their
journey, the squaws squatting over another at a little distance, when
Forey commenced again to suggest that, if nothing offered, they must
either take the alternative of starving to death, for they could
not hope to last another day, or have recourse to the revolting
extremity of sacrificing one of the party to save the lives of all.
To this, however, there was a murmur of dissent, and it was finally
resolved that all should sally out and hunt; for a deer-track had been
discovered near the camp, which, although it was not a fresh one,
proved that there must be game in the vicinity. Weak and exhausted as
they were, they took their rifles and started for the neighbouring
uplands, each taking a different direction.
It was nearly sunset when La Bonté returned to the camp, where he
already espied one of his companions engaged in cooking something
over the fire. Hurrying to the spot, overjoyed with the anticipations
of a feast, he observed that the squaws were gone; but, at the same
time, thought it was not improbable they had escaped during their
absence. Approaching the fire, he observed Forey broiling some meat on
the embers, whilst at a little distance lay what he fancied was the
carcass of a deer.
“Hurrah, boy!” he exclaimed, as he drew near the fire. “You've 'made'
a 'raise,' I see.”
“_Well_, I have,” rejoined the other, turning his meat with the point
of his butcher knife. “There's the meat, hos—help yourself.”
La Bonté drew the knife from his scabbard, and approached the spot
his companion was pointing to; but what was his horror to see the yet
quivering body of one of the Indian squaws, with a large portion of
the flesh butchered from it, part of which Forey was already greedily
devouring. The knife dropped from his hand, and his heart rose to his
throat.
The next day he and his companion struck the creek where Rube and the
other trapper had agreed to await them, and found them in camp with
plenty of meat, and about to start again on their hunt, having given
up the others for lost. From the day they parted, nothing was ever
heard of La Bonté's other two companions, who doubtless fell a prey
to utter exhaustion, and were unable to return to the camp. And thus
ended the Digger expedition.
It may appear almost incredible that men having civilised blood in
their veins could perpetrate such wanton and cold-blooded acts of
aggression on the wretched Indians, as that detailed above; but it is
fact that the mountaineers never lose an opportunity of slaughtering
these miserable Diggers, and attacking their villages, often for the
purpose of capturing women, whom they carry off, and not unfrequently
sell to other tribes, or to each other. In these attacks neither sex
nor age is spared; and your mountaineer has as little compunction in
taking the life of an Indian woman, as he would have in sending his
rifle-ball through the brain of a Crow or Blackfoot warrior.
La Bonté now found himself without animals, and fairly “afoot;”
consequently nothing remained for him but to seek some of the trapping
bands, and hire himself for the hunt. Luckily for him, he soon fell
in with Roubideau, on his way to Uintah, and was supplied by him with
a couple of animals; and thus equipped, he started again with a large
band of trappers, who were going to hunt on the waters of Grand River
and the Gila. Here they fell in with another nation of Indians, from
which branch out the innumerable tribes inhabiting Northern Mexico
and part of California. They were in general friendly, but lost no
opportunity of stealing horses or any articles left lying about
the camp. On one occasion, the trappers being camped on a northern
affluent of the Gila, a volley of arrows was discharged amongst them,
severely wounding one or two of the party, as they sat round the camp
fires. The attack, however, was not renewed, and the next day the
camp was moved further down the stream, where beaver was tolerably
abundant. Before sundown a number of Indians made their appearance,
and making signs of peace, were admitted into the camp.
The trappers were all sitting at their suppers over the fires, the
Indians looking gravely on, when it was remarked that now would be
a good opportunity to retaliate upon them for the trouble their
incessant attacks had entailed upon the camp. The suggestion was
highly approved of, and instantly acted upon. Springing to their
feet, the trappers seized their rifles, and commenced the slaughter.
The Indians, panic-struck, fled without resistance, and numbers fell
before the death-dealing rifles of the mountaineers. A chief, who had
been sitting on a rock near the fire where the leader of the trappers
sat, had been singled out by the latter as the first mark for his
rifle.
Placing the muzzle to his heart, he pulled the trigger, but the
Indian, with extraordinary tenacity of life, rose and grappled with
his assailant. The white was a tall powerful man, but, notwithstanding
the deadly wound the Indian had received, he had his equal in strength
to contend against. The naked form of the Indian twisted and writhed
in his grasp, as he sought to avoid the trapper's uplifted knife. Many
of the latter's companions advanced to administer the _coup de grâce_
to the savage, but the trapper cried to them to keep off: “If he
couldn't whip the Injun,” he said, “he'd go under.”
At length he succeeded in throwing him, and, plunging his knife no
less than seven times into his body, he tore off his scalp, and went
in pursuit of the flying savages. In the course of an hour or two, all
the party returned, and sitting by the fires, resumed their suppers,
which had been interrupted in the manner just described. Walker, the
captain of the band, sat down by the fire where he had been engaged
in the struggle with the Indian chief, whose body was lying within a
few paces of it. He was in the act of fighting the battle over again
to one of his companions, and was saying that the Indian had as much
life in him as a buffalo bull, when, to the horror of all present, the
savage, who had received wounds sufficient for twenty deaths, suddenly
rose to a sitting posture, the fire shedding a glowing light upon the
horrid spectacle. The face was a mass of clotted blood, which flowed
from the lacerated scalp, whilst gouts of blood streamed from eight
gaping wounds in the naked breast.
Slowly this frightful figure rose to a sitting posture, and, bending
slowly forward to the fire, the mouth was seen to open wide, and a
hollow gurgling—owg-h-h—broke from it.
“H—!” exclaimed the trapper—and jumping up, he placed a pistol to the
ghastly head, the eyes of which sternly fixed themselves on his, and
pulling the trigger, blew the poor wretch's skull to atoms.
The Gila passes through a barren, sandy country, with but little
game, and sparsely inhabited by several different tribes of the great
nation of the Apache. Unlike the rivers of this western region, this
stream is, in most parts of its course, particularly towards its upper
waters, entirely bare of timber, and the bottom, through which it
runs, affords but little of the coarsest grass. Whilst on this stream,
the trapping party lost several animals for want of pasture, and many
more from the predatory attacks of the cunning Indians. These losses,
however, they invariably made good whenever they encountered a native
village—taking care, moreover, to repay themselves with interest
whenever occasion offered.
Notwithstanding the sterile nature of the country, the trappers,
during their passage up the Gila, saw with astonishment that the arid
and barren valley had once been peopled by a race of men far superior
to the present nomade tribes who roam over it. With no little awe
they gazed upon the ruined walls of large cities, and the remains of
houses, with their ponderous beams and joists, still testifying to
the skill and industry with which they were constructed: huge ditches
and irrigating canals, now filled with rank vegetation, furrowed the
plains in the vicinity, marking the spot where once green waving maize
and smiling gardens covered what now is a bare and sandy desert.
Pieces of broken pottery, of domestic utensils, stained with bright
colours, every where strewed the ground; and spear and arrow-heads of
stone, and quaintly carved idols, and women's ornaments of agate and
obsidian, were picked up often by the wondering trappers, examined
with child-like curiosity, and thrown carelessly aside.[22]
A Taos Indian, who was amongst the band, was evidently impressed
with a melancholy awe, as he regarded these ancient monuments of his
fallen people. At midnight he rose from his blanket and left the camp,
which was in the vicinity of the ruined city, stealthily picking his
way through the line of slumbering forms which lay around; and the
watchful sentinel observed him approach the ruins with a slow and
reverential gait. Entering the mouldering walls, he gazed silently
around, where in ages past his ancestors trod proudly, a civilised
race, the tradition of which, well known to his people, served but
to make their present degraded position more galling and apparent.
Cowering under the shadow of a crumbling wall, the Indian drew his
blanket over his head, and conjured to his mind's eye the former power
and grandeur of his race—that warlike people who, forsaking their own
country for causes of which no tradition, however dim, now exists,
sought in the fruitful and teeming valleys of the south a soil and
climate which their own lands did not afford; and, displacing the
wild and barbarous hordes inhabiting the land, raised there a mighty
empire, great in riches and civilisation.
The Indian bowed his head, and mourned the fallen greatness of his
tribe. Rising, he slowly drew his tattered blanket round his body,
and prepared to leave the spot, when the shadow of a moving figure,
creeping past a gap in the ruined wall, through which the moonbeams
played, suddenly arrested his attention. Rigid as a statue, he stood
transfixed to the spot, thinking a former inhabitant of the city
was visiting, in a ghostly form, the scenes his body once knew so
well. The bow in his right hand shook with fear as he saw the shadow
approach, but was as tightly and steadily grasped when, on the figure
emerging from the shade of the wall, he distinguished the form of a
naked Apache, armed with bow and arrow, crawling stealthily through
the gloomy ruins.
Standing undiscovered within the shadow of the wall, the Taos raised
his bow, and drew an arrow to the head, until the other, who was
bending low to keep under cover of the wall, and thus approach
the sentinel standing at a short distance, seeing suddenly the
well-defined shadow on the ground, rose upright on his legs, and,
knowing escape was impossible, threw his arms down his sides, and,
drawing himself erect, exclaimed, in a suppressed tone, “Wa-g-h!”
“Wagh!” exclaimed the Taos likewise, but quickly dropped his arrow
point, and eased the bow.
“What does my brother want,” he asked, “that he lopes like a wolf
round the fires of the white hunters?”
“Is my brother's skin not red?” returned the Apache, “and yet he asks
a question that needs no answer. Why does the 'medicine wolf' follow
the buffalo and deer? For blood—and for blood the Indian follows the
treacherous white from camp to camp, to strike blow for blow, until
the deaths of those so basely killed are fully avenged.”
“My brother speaks with a big heart, and his words are true; and
though the Taos and Pimo (Apache) black their faces towards each other
(are at war), here, on the graves of their common fathers, there is
peace between them. Let my brother go.”
The Apache moved quickly away, and the Taos once more sought the
camp-fires of his white companions.
Following the course of the Gila to the eastward, they crossed a range
of the Sierra Madre, which is a continuation of the Rocky Mountains,
and struck the waters of the Rio del Norte, below the settlements of
New Mexico. On this stream they fared well; besides trapping a great
quantity of beaver, game of all kinds abounded, and the bluffs near
the well-timbered banks of the river were covered with rich gramma
grass, on which their half-starved animals speedily improved in
condition.
They remained for some weeks encamped on the right bank of the stream,
during which period they lost one of their number, shot with an arrow
whilst lying asleep within a few feet of the camp-fire.
The Navajos continually prowl along that portion of the river which
runs through the settlements of New Mexico, preying upon the cowardly
inhabitants, and running off with their cattle whenever they are
exposed in sufficient numbers to tempt them. Whilst ascending the
river, the trappers met a party of these Indians returning to their
mountain homes with a large band of mules and horses which they
had taken from one of the Mexican towns, besides several women and
children, whom they had captured, as slaves. The main body of the
trappers halting, ten of the band followed and charged upon the
Indians, who numbered at least sixty, killed seven of them, and retook
the prisoners and the whole cavallada of horses and mules. Great were
the rejoicings when they entered Socorro, the town whence the women
and children had been taken, and as loud the remonstrances, when,
handing them over to their families, the trappers rode on, driving
fifty of the best of the rescued animals before them, which they
retained as payment for their services. Messengers were sent on to
Albuquerque with intelligence of the proceeding; and as troops were
stationed there, the commandant was applied to, to chastise the
insolent whites.
That warrior, on learning that the trappers numbered less than
fifteen, became alarmingly brave, and ordering out the whole of his
disposable force, some two hundred dragoons, sallied out to intercept
the audacious mountaineers. About noon one day, just as the latter
had emerged from a little town between Socorro and Albuquerque, they
descried the imposing force of the dragoons winding along a plain
ahead. As the trappers advanced, the officer in command halted his
men, and sent out a trumpeter to order the former to await his coming.
Treating the herald to a roar of laughter, on they went, and, as they
approached the soldiers, broke into a trot, ten of the number forming
line in front of the packed and loose animals, and, rifle in hand,
charging with loud whoops. This was enough for the New Mexicans.
Before the enemy were within shooting distance, the gallant fellows
turned tail, and splashed into the river, dragging themselves up the
opposite bank like half-drowned rats, and saluted with loud peels of
laughter by the victorious mountaineers, who, firing a volley into the
air, in token of supreme contempt, quietly continued their route up
the stream.
Before reaching the capital of the province, they struck again to the
westward, and following a small creek to its junction with the Green
River, ascended that stream, trapping _en route_ to the Uintah or
Snake Fork, and arrived at Roubideau's rendezvous early in the fall,
where they quickly disposed of their peltries, and were once more on
“the loose.”
Here La Bonté married a Snake squaw, with whom he crossed the
mountains and proceeded to the Platte through the Bayou Salade, where
he purchased of the Yutas a commodious lodge, with the necessary
poles, &c.; and being now “rich” in mules and horses, and in all
things necessary for _otium cum dignitate_, he took unto himself
another wife, as by mountain law allowed; and thus equipped, with both
his better halves attired in all the glory of fofarraw, he went his
way rejoicing.
In a snug little valley lying under the shadow of the mountains,
watered by Vermilion Creek, and in which abundance of buffalo, elk,
deer, and antelope fed and fattened on the rich grass, La Bonté raised
his lodge, employing himself in hunting, and fully occupying his
wives' time in dressing the skins of the many animals he killed. Here
he enjoyed himself amazingly until the commencement of winter, when he
determined to cross to the North Fork and trade his skins, of which
he had now as many packs as his animals could carry. It happened that
he one day left his camp, to spend a couple of days hunting buffalo
in the mountains, whither the bulls were now resorting, intending to
“put out” for Platte on his return. His hunt, however, led him farther
into the mountains than he anticipated, and it was only on the third
day that sundown saw him enter the little valley where his camp was
situated.
Crossing the creek, he was not a little disturbed at seeing fresh
Indian sign on the opposite side, which led in the direction of his
lodge; and his worst fears were realised when, on coming within
sight of the little plateau where the conical top of his white lodge
had always before met his view, he saw nothing but a blackened mass
strewing the ground, and the burnt ends of the poles which had once
supported it.
Squaws, animals, and peltry, all were gone—an Arapaho moccasin lying
on the ground told him where. He neither fumed nor fretted, but,
throwing the meat off his pack animal, and the saddle from his horse,
he collected the blackened ends of the lodge poles and made a fire—led
his beasts to water and hobbled them, threw a piece of buffalo meat
upon the coals, squatted down before the fire, and lit his pipe. La
Bonté was a true philosopher. Notwithstanding that his house, his
squaws, his peltries, were gone “at one fell swoop,” the loss scarcely
disturbed his equanimity; and before the tobacco in his pipe was half
smoked out, he had ceased to think of his misfortune. Certes, as he
turned his apolla of tender loin, he sighed as he thought of the
delicate manipulations with which his Shoshone squaw, Sah-qua-manish,
was wont to beat to tenderness the toughest bull meat—and missed
the tending care of Yute Chil-co-thē, or the “reed that bends,” in
patching the holes worn in his neatly fitting moccasins, the work of
her nimble fingers. However, he ate and smoked, and smoked and ate,
and slept none the worse for his mishap; thought, before he closed his
eyes, a little of his lost wives, and more perhaps of the “Bending
Reed” than of Sah-qua-manish, or “she who runs with the stream,” drew
his blanket tightly round him, felt his rifle handy to his grasp, and
was speedily asleep.
Whilst the tired mountaineer breathes heavily in his dream, careless
and unconscious that a living soul is near, his mule on a sudden
pricks her ears and stares into the gloom, whence a figure soon
emerges, and with noiseless steps draws near the sleeping hunter.
Taking one look at the slumbering form, the same figure approaches
the fire and adds a log to the pile; which done, it quietly seats
itself at the feet of the sleeper, and remains motionless as a
statue. Towards morning the hunter awoke, and, rubbing his eyes,
was astonished to feel the glowing warmth of the fire striking on
his naked feet, which, in Indian fashion, were stretched towards
it; as by this time, he knew, the fire he left burning must long
since have expired. Lazily raising himself on his elbow, he saw a
figure sitting near it with the back turned to him, which, although
his exclamatory wagh was loud enough in all conscience, remained
perfectly motionless, until the trapper, rising, placed his hand upon
the shoulder: then, turning up its face, the features displayed to his
wondering eye were those of Chil-co-thē, his Yuta wife. Yes, indeed,
the “reed that bends” had escaped from her Arapaho captors, and made
her way back to her white husband, fasting and alone.
The Indian women who follow the fortunes of the white hunters are
remarkable for their affection and fidelity to their husbands, the
which virtues, it must be remarked, are all on their own side; for,
with very few exceptions, the mountaineers seldom scruple to abandon
their Indian wives, whenever the fancy takes them to change their
harems; and on such occasions the squaws, thus cast aside, wild with
jealousy and despair, have been not unfrequently known to take signal
vengeance both on their faithless husbands and on the successful
beauties who have supplanted them in their affections. There are
some honourable exceptions, however, to such cruelty, and many of
the mountaineers stick to their red-skinned wives for better and for
worse, often suffering them to gain the upper hand in the domestic
economy of the lodges, and being ruled by their better halves in all
things pertaining to family affairs; and it may be remarked, that,
when once the lady dons the unmentionables, she becomes the veriest
termagant that ever henpecked an unfortunate husband.
Your refined trappers, however, who, after many years of bachelor
life, incline to take to themselves a better half, often undertake an
expedition into the settlements of New Mexico, where not unfrequently
they adopt a very “Young Lochinvar” system in procuring the required
rib; and have been known to carry off, _vi et armis_, from the midst
of a fandango in Fernandez, or El Rancho of Taos, some dark-skinned
beauty—with or without her own consent is a matter of unconcern—and
bear the ravished fair one across the mountains, where she soon
becomes inured to the free and roving life fate has assigned her.
American women are valued at a low figure in the mountains. They are
too fine and “fofarraw.” Neither can they make moccasins, or dress
skins; nor are they so schooled to perfect obedience to their lords
and masters as to stand a “lodge-pole-ing,” which the western lords of
the creation not unfrequently deem it their bounden duty to inflict
upon their squaws for some dereliction of domestic duty.
To return, however, to La Bonté. That worthy thought himself a lucky
man to have lost but one of his wives, and she the worst of the two.
“Here's the beauty,” he philosophised, “of having two 'wiping-sticks'
to your rifle; if one breaks whilst ramming down a ball, there's still
hickory left to supply its place.” Although, with animals and peltry,
he had lost several hundred dollars' worth of “possibles,” he never
groaned or grumbled. “There's redskin will pay for this,” he once
muttered, and was done.
Packing all that was left on the mule, and mounting Chil-co-thē on his
buffalo horse, he shouldered his rifle and struck the Indian trail for
Platte. On Horse Creek they came upon a party of French[23] trappers
and hunters, who were encamped with their lodges and Indian squaws,
and formed quite a village. Several old companions were amongst them;
and, to celebrate the arrival of a “camarade,” a splendid dog-feast
was prepared in honour of the event. To effect this, the squaws
sallied out of their lodges to seize upon sundry of the younger and
plumper of the pack, to fill the kettles for the approaching feast.
With a presentiment of the fate in store for them, the curs slunk away
with tails between their legs, and declined the pressing invitations
of the anxious squaws. These shouldered their tomahawks and gave
chase; but the cunning pups outstripped them, and would have fairly
beaten the kettles, if some of the mountaineers had not stepped out
with their rifles and quickly laid half-a-dozen ready to the knife. A
cayeute, attracted by the scent of blood, drew near, unwitting of the
canine feast in progress, and was likewise soon made _dog_ of, and
thrust into the boiling kettle with the rest.
The feast that night was long protracted; and so savoury was the
stew, and so agreeable to the palates of the hungry hunters, that
at the moment the last morsel was drawn from the pot, when all
were regretting that a few more dogs had not been slaughtered, a
wolfish-looking cur, who incautiously poked his long nose and head
under the lodge skin, was pounced upon by the nearest hunter, who in
a moment drew his knife across the animal's throat, and threw it to a
squaw to skin and prepare for the pot. The wolf had long since been
vigorously discussed, and voted by all hands to be “good as dog.”
“Meat's meat,” is a common saying in the mountains, and from the
buffalo down to the rattlesnake, including every quadruped that
runs, every fowl that flies, and every reptile that creeps, nothing
comes amiss to the mountaineer. Throwing aside all the qualms and
conscientious scruples of a fastidious stomach, it must be confessed
that _dog-meat_ takes a high rank in the wonderful variety of cuisine
afforded to the gourmand and the gourmet by the prolific “mountains.”
Now, when the bill of fare offers such tempting viands as buffalo
beef, venison, mountain mutton, turkey, grouse, wildfowl, hares,
rabbits, beaver and their tails, &c. &c., the station assigned to
“dog” as No. 2 in the list can be well appreciated—No. 1, in delicacy
of flavour, richness of meat, and other good qualities, being the
flesh of _panthers_, which surpasses every other, and all put together.
“Painter meat can't 'shine' with this,” says a hunter, to express
the delicious flavour of an extraordinary cut of “tender loin,” or
delicate fleece.
La Bonté started with his squaw for the North Fork early in November,
and arrived at the Laramie at the moment that the big village of the
Sioux came up for their winter trade. Two other villages were encamped
lower down the Platte, including the Brulés and the Yanka-taus, who
were now on more friendly terms with the whites. The first band
numbered several hundred lodges, and presented quite an imposing
appearance, the village being laid out in parallel lines, the lodge
of each chief being marked with his particular totem. The traders
had a particular portion of the village allotted to them, and a line
was marked out which was strictly kept by the soldiers appointed for
the protection of the whites. As there were many rival traders, and
numerous _coureurs des bois_, or peddling ones, the market promised
to be brisk, the more so as a large quantity of ardent spirits was in
their possession, which would be dealt with no unsparing hand to put
down the opposition of so many competing traders.
In opening a trade a quantity of liquor is first given “on the
prairie,”[24] as the Indians express it in words, or by signs in
rubbing the palm of one hand quickly across the other, holding
both flat. Having once tasted the pernicious liquid, there is no
fear but they will quickly come to terms; and not unfrequently the
spirit is drugged, to render the unfortunate Indians still more
helpless. Sometimes, maddened and infuriated by drink, they commit
the most horrid atrocities on each other, murdering and mutilating
in a barbarous manner, and often attempting the lives of the traders
themselves. On one occasion a band of Sioux, whilst under the
influence of liquor, attacked and took possession of a trading fort of
the American Fur Company, stripping it of every thing it contained,
and roasting the trader himself over his own fire.
The principle on which the nefarious trade is conducted is this, that
the Indians, possessing a certain quantity of buffalo robes, have
to be cheated out of them, and the sooner the better. Although it
is explicitly prohibited by the laws of the United States to convey
spirits across the Indian frontier, and its introduction amongst
the Indian tribes subjects the offender to a heavy penalty; yet the
infraction of this law is of daily occurrence, perpetrated almost in
the very presence of the government officers, who are stationed along
the frontier for the purpose of enforcing the laws for the protection
of the Indians.
The misery entailed upon these unhappy people by the illicit traffic
must be seen to be fully appreciated. Before the effects of the
poisonous “fire-water,” they disappear from the earth like “snow
before the sun.” Although aware of the destruction it entails upon
them, the poor wretches have not moral courage to shun the fatal
allurement it holds out to them, of wild excitement and a temporary
oblivion of their many sufferings and privations. With such palpable
effects, it appears only likely that the illegal trade is connived
at by those whose policy it has ever been, gradually but surely, to
exterminate the Indians, and by any means to extinguish their title to
the few lands they now own on the outskirts of civilisation. Certain
it is that large quantities of liquor find their way annually into the
Indian country, and as certain are the fatal results of the pernicious
system, and that the American government takes no steps to prevent it.
There are some tribes who have as yet withstood the great temptation,
and have resolutely refused to permit liquor to be brought into their
villages. The marked difference between the improved condition of
these, and the moral and physical abasement of those which give way
to the fatal passion for drinking, sufficiently proves the pernicious
effects of the liquor trade on the unfortunate and abused aborigines;
and it is matter of regret that no philanthropist has sprung up in the
United States to do battle for the rights of the Red men, and call
attention to the wrongs they endure at the hands of their supplanters
in the lands of their fathers.
Robbed of their homes and hunting-grounds, and driven by the
encroachments of the whites to distant regions, which hardly support
existence, the Indians, day by day, gradually decrease before
the accumulating evils, of body and soul, which their civilised
persecutors entail upon them. With every man's hand against them,
they drag on to their final destiny; and the day is not far distant
when the American Indian will exist only in the traditions of his
pale-faced conquerors.
The Indians trading at this time on the Platte were mostly of the
Sioux nation, including the tribes of Burnt-woods, Yanka-taus,
Pian-Kashas, Assinaboins, Oglallahs, Broken Arrows, all of which
belong to the great Sioux nation, or La-cotahs, as they call
themselves, and which means cut-throats. There were also some
Cheyennes allied to the Sioux, as well as a small band of Republican
Pawnees.
Horse-racing, gambling, and ball-play, served to pass away the time
until the trade commenced, and many packs of dressed robes changed
hands amongst themselves. When playing at the usual game of “_hand_,”
the stakes, comprising all the valuables the players possess, are
piled in two heaps close at hand, the winner at the conclusion of
the game sweeping the goods towards him, and often returning a small
portion “on the prairie,” with which the loser may again commence
operations with another player.
The game of “hand” is played by two persons. One, who commences,
places a plum or cherry-stone in the hollow formed by joining the
concaved palms of the hands together, then shaking the stone for a few
moments, the hands are suddenly separated, and the other player must
guess which hand now contains the stone.
Large bets are often wagered on the result of this favourite game,
which is also often played by the squaws, the men standing round
encouraging them to bet, and laughing loudly at their grotesque
excitement.
A Burnt-wood Sioux, Tah-tunganisha, one of the bravest chiefs of his
tribe, was out, when a young man, on a solitary war expedition against
the Crows. One evening he drew near a certain “medicine” spring,
where, to his astonishment, he encountered a Crow warrior in the act
of quenching his thirst. He was on the point of drawing his bow upon
him, when he remembered the sacred nature of the spot, and making the
sign of peace, he fearlessly drew near his foe, and proceeded likewise
to slake his thirst. A pipe of kinnik-kinnik being produced, it was
proposed to pass away the early part of the night in a game of “hand.”
They accordingly sat down beside the spring, and commenced the game.
Fortune favoured the Crow. He won arrow after arrow from the
Burnt-wood brave; then his bow, his club, his knife, his robe, all
followed, and the Sioux sat naked on the plain. Still he proposed
another stake against the other's winnings—his scalp. He played, and
lost; and bending forward his head, the Crow warrior drew his knife
and quickly removed the bleeding prize. Without a murmur the luckless
Sioux rose to depart, but first exacted a promise from his antagonist
that he would meet him once more at the same spot, and engage in
another trial of skill.
On the day appointed, the Burnt-wood sought the spot, with a new
equipment, and again the Crow made his appearance, and they sat down
to play. This time fortune changed sides; the Sioux won back his
former losses, and in his turn the Crow was stripped to his skin.
Scalp against scalp was now the stake, and this time the Crow
submitted his head to the victorious Burnt-wood's knife; and both the
warriors stood scalpless on the plain.
And now the Crow had but one single stake of value to offer, and the
offer of it he did not hesitate to make. He staked his life against
the other's winnings. They played; and fortune still being adverse, he
lost. He offered his breast to his adversary. The Burnt-wood plunged
his knife into his heart to the very hilt; and, laden with his spoils,
returned to his village, and to this day wears suspended from his ears
his own and enemy's scalp.
The village presented the usual scene of confusion as long as the
trade lasted. Fighting, brawling, yelling, dancing, and all the
concomitants of intoxication, continued to the last drop of the
liquor-keg, when the reaction after such excitement was almost worse
than the evil itself. During this time, all the work devolved upon
the squaws, who, in tending the horses, and in packing wood and water
from a long distance, had their time sufficiently occupied. As there
was little or no grass in the vicinity, the animals were supported
entirely on the bark of the cotton-wood; and to procure this, the
women were daily engaged in felling huge trees, or climbing them
fearlessly, chopping off the upper limbs—springing like squirrels from
branch to branch, which, in their confined costume, appeared matter of
considerable difficulty.
The most laughter-provoking scenes, however, were, when a number
of squaws sallied out to the grove, with their long-nosed,
wolfish-looking dogs harnessed to their _travées_ or trabogans, on
which loads of cotton-wood were piled. The dogs, knowing full well the
duty required of them, refuse to approach the coaxing squaws, and, at
the same time, are fearful of provoking their anger by escaping and
running off. They, therefore, squat on their haunches, with tongues
hanging out of their long mouths, the picture of indecision, removing
a short distance as the irate squaw approaches. When once harnessed to
the travée, however, which is simply a couple of lodge-poles lashed
on either side of the dog, with a couple of cross-bars near the ends
to support the freight, they follow quietly enough, urged by bevies
of children, who invariably accompany the women. Once arrived at the
scene of their labours, the reluctance of the curs to draw near the
piles of cotton-wood is most comical. They will lie down stubbornly
at a little distance, whining their uneasiness, or sometimes scamper
off bodily, with their long poles trailing after them, pursued by the
yelling and half frantic squaws.
When the travées are laden, the squaws, bent double under loads of
wood sufficient to break a porter's back, and calling to the dogs,
which are urged on by the buffalo-fed urchins in rear, lead the line
of march. The curs, taking advantage of the helpless state of their
mistresses, turn a deaf ear to their coaxings, lying down every
few yards to rest, growling and fighting with each other, in which
encounters every cur joins the _mêlée_, charging pell-mell into the
yelping throng, upsetting the squalling children, and making confusion
worse confounded. Then, armed with lodge-poles, the squaws, throwing
down their loads, rush to the rescue, dealing stalwart blows on the
pugnacious curs, and finally restoring something like order to the
march.
“Tszoo—tszoo!” they cry, “wah, kashne, ceit-cha—get on, you devilish
beasts—tszoo—tszoo!” and belabouring them without mercy, they start
them into a gallop, which, once commenced, is generally continued
till they reach their destination.
The Indian dogs are, however, invariably well treated by the squaws,
since they assist materially the every-day labours of these patient
over-worked creatures, in hauling firewood to the lodge, and, on the
line of march, carrying many of the household goods and chattels,
which otherwise the squaw herself would have to carry on her back.
Every lodge possesses from half-a-dozen to a score—some for draught
and others for eating—for dog meat forms part and parcel of an Indian
feast. The former are stout, wiry animals, half wolf half sheep-dog,
and are regularly trained to draught; the latter are of a smaller
kind, more inclined to fat, and embrace every variety of the genus
cur. Many of the southern tribes possess a breed of dogs entirely
divested of hair, which evidently have come from South America, and
are highly esteemed for the kettle. Their meat, in appearance and
flavour, resembles young pork, but far surpasses it in richness and
delicacy.
The Sioux are very expert in making their lodges comfortable, taking
more pains in their construction than most Indians. They are all
of conical form: a framework of straight slender poles, resembling
hop-poles, and from twenty to twenty-five feet long, is first erected,
round which is stretched a sheeting of buffalo robes, softly dressed,
and smoked to render them water-tight. The apex, through which the
ends of the poles protrude, is left open to allow the smoke to escape.
A small opening, sufficient to permit the entrance of a man, is made
on one side, over which is hung a door of buffalo hide. A lodge of
the common size contains about twelve or fourteen skins, and contains
comfortably a family of twelve in number. The fire is made in the
centre immediately under the aperture in the roof, and a flap of the
upper skins is closed or extended at pleasure, serving as a cowl or
chimney-top to regulate the draught and permit the smoke to escape
freely. Round the fire, with their feet towards it, the inmates sleep
on skins and buffalo rugs, which are rolled up during the day, and
stowed at the back of the lodge.
In travelling, the lodge-poles are secured half on each side a horse,
and the skins placed on transversal bars near the ends, which trail
along the ground,—two or three squaws or children mounted on the same
horse, or the smallest of the latter borne in the dog travées. A set
of lodge-poles will last from three to seven years, unless the village
is constantly on the move, when they are soon worn out in trailing
over the gravelly prairie. They are usually of ash, which grows on
many of the mountain creeks, and regular expeditions are undertaken
when a supply is required, either for their own lodges, or for trading
with those tribes who inhabit the prairies at a great distance from
the locality where the poles are procured.
There are also certain creeks where the Indians resort to lay in a
store of kinnik-kinnik (the inner bark of the red willow), which they
use as a substitute for tobacco, and which has an aromatic and very
pungent flavour. It is prepared for smoking by being scraped in thin
curly flakes from the slender saplings, and crisped before the fire,
after which it is rubbed between the hands into a form resembling
leaf-tobacco, and stored in skin bags for use. It has a highly
narcotic effect on those not habituated to its use, and produces a
heaviness sometimes approaching stupefaction, altogether different
from the soothing effects of tobacco.
Every year, owing to the disappearance of the buffalo from their
former haunts, the Indians are compelled to encroach upon each
other's hunting-grounds, which is a fruitful cause of war between
the different tribes. It is a curious fact, that the buffalo retire
before the whites, whilst the presence of Indians in their pastures
appears in no degree to disturb them. Wherever a few white hunters
are congregated in a trading port, or elsewhere, so sure it is that,
if they remain in the same locality, the buffalo will desert the
vicinity, and seek pasture elsewhere. In this, the Indians affirm,
the wah-keitcha, or “bad medicine,” of the pale-faces is very
apparent; and they ground upon it their well-founded complaints of the
encroachments made upon their hunting-grounds by the white hunters.
In the winter, many of the tribes are reduced to the very verge of
starvation—the buffalo having passed from their country into that
of their enemies, when no other alternative is offered them, but to
remain where they are and starve, or to follow the game into a hostile
region, a move entailing war and all its horrors.
Reckless, moreover, of the future, in order to prepare robes for the
traders, and to procure the pernicious fire-water, they wantonly
slaughter, every year, vast numbers of buffalo cows (the skins of
which sex only are dressed), and thus add to the evils in store for
them. When questioned on this subject, and reproached with such
want of foresight, they answer, that however quickly the buffalo
disappears, the Red man “goes under” more quickly still; and that the
Great Spirit has ordained that both shall be “rubbed out” from the
face of nature at one and the same time,—“that arrows and bullets
are not more fatal to the buffalo than the small-pox and fire-water
to them, and that before many winters' snows have disappeared, the
buffalo and the Red man will only be remembered by their bones,
which will strew the plains.”—“They look forward, however, to a
future state, when, after a long journey, they will reach the happy
hunting-grounds, where buffalo will once more blacken the prairies;
where the pale-faces dare not come to disturb them; where no winter
snows cover the ground, and the buffalo are always plentiful and fat.”
As soon as the streams opened, La Bonté, now reduced to two animals
and four traps, sallied forth again, this time seeking the dangerous
country of the Blackfeet, on the head waters of the Yellow Stone
and Upper Missouri. He was accompanied by three others, a man named
Wheeler, and one Cross-Eagle, a Swede, who had been many years in
the western country. Reaching the forks of a small creek, on both of
which appeared plenty of beaver sign, La Bonté followed the left-hand
one alone, whilst the others trapped the right in company, the former
leaving his squaw in the company of a Sioux woman, who followed the
fortunes of Cross-Eagle, the party agreeing to rendezvous at the
junction of the two forks as soon as they had trapped to their heads
and again descended them. The larger party were the first to reach the
rendezvous, and camped on the banks of the main stream to await the
arrival of La Bonté.
The morning after their return, they had just risen from their
blankets, and were lazily stretching themselves before the fire, when
a volley of firearms rattled from the bank of the creek, and two of
their number fell dead to the ground, whilst at the same moment the
deafening yells of Indians broke upon the ears of the frightened
squaws. Cross-Eagle seized his rifle, and, though severely wounded,
rushed to the cover of a hollow tree which stood near, and crawling
into it, defended himself the whole day with the greatest obstinacy,
killing five Indians outright, and wounding several more. Unable to
drive the gallant trapper from his retreat, the savages took advantage
of a favourable wind which suddenly sprang up, and fired the long dry
grass surrounding the tree. The rotten log catching fire, at length
compelled the hunter to leave his retreat. Clubbing his rifle, he
charged amongst the Indians, and fell at last, pierced through and
through with wounds, but not until two more of his assailants had
fallen by his hand.
The two squaws were carried off, and one was sold shortly afterwards
to some white men at the trading ports on the Platte; but La Bonté
never recovered the “Bending Reed,” nor even heard of her existence
from that day. So once more was the mountaineer bereft of his better
half; and when he returned to the rendezvous, a troop of wolves were
feasting on the bodies of his late companions, and of the Indians
killed in the affray, of which he only heard the particulars a long
time after from a trapper, who had been present when one of the squaws
was offered at the trading post for sale, and had heard her recount
the miserable fate of her husband and his companions on the forks of
the creek, which, from the fact of La Bonté being the leader of the
party, has since borne his name.
Undaunted by this misfortune, the trapper continued his solitary
hunt, passing through the midst of the Crow and Blackfeet country;
encountering many perils, often hunted by the Indians, but always
escaping. He had soon loaded both his animals with beaver, and then
thought of bending his steps to some of the trading rendezvous on the
other side of the mountains, where employés of the Great North-west
Fur Company meet the trappers with the produce of their hunts, on
Lewis's fork of the Columbia, or one of its numerous affluents. His
intention was to pass the winter at some of the company's trading
posts in Oregon, into which country he had never yet penetrated.