A Fierce Battle with the Blackfeet--Daring Act of Kit Carson--Arrival of
the Reserves and End of the Battle.
When near the head waters of the Missouri, the trappers discovered they
were approaching the principal village of the Blackfeet. They determined
to attack and punish the Indians who had caused them so much trouble
and suffering; but the whites were so numerous and powerful that extreme
care was necessary to prevent their presence becoming known.
When a number of miles from the village, the trappers came to a halt,
and Kit Carson with several men was sent forward to reconnoitre. With
extreme caution they made their way to a point from which they could
overlook the village.
A glance showed the Indians hurriedly making ready to move elsewhere.
The shrewd red men had discovered their danger before their enemies
caught sight of them. Carson galloped back as rapidly as he could, and
made known what had been seen. A council was hastily called and about
half the company advanced to give the Blackfeet battle. Kit Carson, as
might be supposed, was made the leader. The others were to guard the
property, advance slowly and act as reserve, which could be hurried
forward should it become necessary.
As agreed upon, Kit Carson galloped ahead, and the moment his men came
in sight of the village, they dashed through it, killing a number
of warriors. The others slowly fell back, fighting as they went, and
without showing the least panic. They received charge after charge of
the white men, with the steadiness of veterans. By and by the eagerness
of the trappers reduced their ammunition and their firing became less
destructive. The Blackfeet were quick to perceive the cause, and in turn
they charged upon their assailants who became immediately involved in
a desperate hand to hand fight. It was then the small arms in the
possession of the whites played their part. They were used with such
effect, that the fierce warriors were compelled once more to retreat.
But the courageous red men recoiled a short distance only, when they
halted and then, with exultant yells, dashed toward the trappers, who
despite all they could do, were forced back until it looked as if the
whole party would be overwhelmed and destroyed.
On this retreat, one of the horses belonging to the hunters was shot,
and plunged to the ground so suddenly that his rider was caught before
he could spring from the saddle. Several of the warriors were quick to
perceive his sore straits, and dashed toward him, eager to secure his
scalp. The poor fellow struggled desperately, but could not extricate
himself, and his expression of horrified despair when he perceived the
fierce red men running a race with each other to reach him, would have
melted the heart of almost any one.
Carson was several rods distant, but seeing the danger of his friend,
he bounded out of his saddle, and shouted to the others to rally to the
defence of their imperilled comrade. Kit raised his rifle while on the
run and shot the leading warrior dead. The other whites were so close
behind that the remaining Blackfeet whirled and ran for their lives.
Several of them were shot down before they could reach the shelter of
the rocks from behind which they sprang after the fallen white man.
Carson's devotion to his friend now placed him in an unpleasant if not
dangerous situation. His steed being without restraint, galloped off
beyond his reach, and the commander was thus left on foot, when there
was urgent need that he should be mounted.
Meanwhile the mountaineer who was caught under the body of his horse,
was struggling desperately to withdraw his imprisoned leg, for there was
no saying when the Blackfeet would be upon him again. He succeeded at
last, and, standing upon his feet, shook himself together, as may be
said, and he found that though pretty badly bruised, no bones were
broken, and he was able to do his full part in the serious duty before
him.
The exciting episode benefited the trappers in one respect: it served to
check the seemingly resistless rush of the Blackfeet and gave the others
a chance to rally and fix upon some course of action.
Carson ran rapidly toward the nearest horseman and sprang upon the back
of his animal behind him. The steed was forced to his best and speedily
joined the main body a short distance off. It was fortunate that just at
that moment there came a lull in the furious fighting, else Carson could
scarcely have escaped so well. The runaway horse was pursued by one
of the mountaineers who finally cornered and brought him back to their
leader.
The Blackfeet did not follow the whites, nor did the latter return to
their charge against them. Both parties had gained a thorough taste of
each other's mettle, and the conclusion reached was like that of two
trained pugilists--their strength was so nearly equal that neither could
afford to throw away his advantage by leading in the assault.
Undoubtedly Carson and his men would have withdrawn but for the hope
that the reserves were close at hand. The trappers had fought valiantly
but not more so than the Indians, who still possessed plenty ammunition
while that of the whites was nearly exhausted. Had they advanced and
encountered the warriors again, the latter would have swept everything
before them. As it was, the mountaineers were by no means safe even when
acting on the defensive. If the red men should charge upon them with
their old time fierceness, it was by no means certain they would
not destroy the whites. The fight would necessarily be of the most
sanguinary nature, but when guns and small arms were useless for lack
of ammunition, nothing short of a miracle could save them from
annihilation.
Several hours had gone and Carson and his men wondered what could delay
the reserves. Time always passes slowly to those in waiting, and to some
of the hunters the tardiness of their friends was unaccountable. Carson
was on the point of sending messengers back to hurry them forward, when
the whole party appeared and the situation changed.
But those who expected the Blackfeet to flee in panic when they observed
the doubling of the assailing forces, were much mistaken. The feeling
among the Indians could not be described as in the least "panicky."
They quietly surveyed the new arrivals and prepared with the coolness
of veterans for the conflict that was sure to come, within the next few
minutes.
The powder was distributed among the trappers, who were more eager than
ever to attack their old enemies, who were as ready as they for the
conflict. Nearly two hundred yards separated the combatants, when
the mountaineers, leaving their horses behind, advanced on foot. The
Blackfeet stationed themselves behind rocks and trees and defiantly
awaited the attack.
In a few minutes the most savage fight of the day was raging. A hundred
rifles were flashing in every direction and the yells of the red men
mingled with the shouts of the excited mountaineers.
As the warriors had used every means to shelter themselves, it was
necessary to dislodge them before they could be driven back. Without
remaining together in a compact mass, the trappers made for them with
the fierceness of tigers.
The result of this charge were a number of remarkable combats. A hunter
would dash at a warrior crouching behind some rock, and the two would
begin dodging, advancing, retreating, firing, striking and manoeuvering
against each other. Sometimes one would succeed and sometimes the other.
The Blackfoot, finding the situation becoming too hot, would break
for other cover and probably would be shot on the run or would escape
altogether. Again, it would be the white man who would be just a second
too late in discharging his gun and would pay the penalty with his life.
At last the Indians began falling back and the mountaineers pushing them
hard, they finally broke and fled in a wild panic, leaving many dead
behind them. On the part of the trappers three had been killed and quite
a number badly wounded.