PASSAGE OF THE MOUNTAINS
When I took leave of Shaw at La Bonte’s Camp, I promised that I would
meet him at Fort Laramie on the 1st of August. That day, according to my
reckoning, was now close at hand. It was impossible, at best, to fulfill
my engagement exactly, and my meeting with him must have been postponed
until many days after the appointed time, had not the plans of the
Indians very well coincided with my own. They too, intended to pass
the mountains and move toward the fort. To do so at this point was
impossible, because there was no opening; and in order to find a passage
we were obliged to go twelve or fourteen miles southward. Late in the
afternoon the camp got in motion, defiling back through the mountains
along the same narrow passage by which they had entered. I rode in
company with three or four young Indians at the rear, and the moving
swarm stretched before me, in the ruddy light of sunset, or in the deep
shadow of the mountains far beyond my sight. It was an ill-omened spot
they chose to encamp upon. When they were there just a year before, a
war party of ten men, led by The Whirlwind’s son, had gone out against
the enemy, and not one had ever returned. This was the immediate cause
of this season’s warlike preparations. I was not a little astonished
when I came to the camp, at the confusion of horrible sounds with which
it was filled; howls, shrieks, and wailings were heard from all the
women present, many of whom not content with this exhibition of grief
for the loss of their friends and relatives, were gashing their legs
deeply with knives. A warrior in the village, who had lost a brother
in the expedition; chose another mode of displaying his sorrow. The
Indians, who, though often rapacious, are utterly devoid of avarice, are
accustomed in times of mourning, or on other solemn occasions, to give
away the whole of their possessions, and reduce themselves to nakedness
and want. The warrior in question led his two best horses into the
center of the village, and gave them away to his friends; upon which
songs and acclamations in praise of his generosity mingled with the
cries of the women.
On the next morning we entered once more among the mountains. There was
nothing in their appearance either grand or picturesque, though they
were desolate to the last degree, being mere piles of black and broken
rocks, without trees or vegetation of any kind. As we passed among them
along a wide valley, I noticed Raymond riding by the side of a younger
squaw, to whom he was addressing various insinuating compliments. All
the old squaws in the neighborhood watched his proceedings in great
admiration, and the girl herself would turn aside her head and laugh.
Just then the old mule thought proper to display her vicious pranks; she
began to rear and plunge most furiously. Raymond was an excellent rider,
and at first he stuck fast in his seat; but the moment after, I saw
the mule’s hind-legs flourishing in the air, and my unlucky follower
pitching head foremost over her ears. There was a burst of screams and
laughter from all the women, in which his mistress herself took part,
and Raymond was instantly assailed by such a shower of witticisms, that
he was glad to ride forward out of hearing.
Not long after, as I rode near him, I heard him shouting to me. He was
pointing toward a detached rocky hill that stood in the middle of the
valley before us, and from behind it a long file of elk came out at
full speed and entered an opening in the side of the mountain. They had
scarcely disappeared when whoops and exclamations came from fifty voices
around me. The young men leaped from their horses, flung down their
heavy buffalo robes, and ran at full speed toward the foot of the
nearest mountain. Reynal also broke away at a gallop in the same
direction, “Come on! come on!” he called to us. “Do you see that band of
bighorn up yonder? If there’s one of them, there’s a hundred!”
In fact, near the summit of the mountain, I could see a large number of
small white objects, moving rapidly upward among the precipices, while
others were filing along its rocky profile. Anxious to see the sport,
I galloped forward, and entering a passage in the side of the mountain,
ascended the loose rocks as far as my horse could carry me. Here I
fastened her to an old pine tree that stood alone, scorching in the sun.
At that moment Raymond called to me from the right that another band of
sheep was close at hand in that direction. I ran up to the top of the
opening, which gave me a full view into the rocky gorge beyond; and
here I plainly saw some fifty or sixty sheep, almost within rifle-shot,
clattering upward among the rocks, and endeavoring, after their usual
custom, to reach the highest point. The naked Indians bounded up lightly
in pursuit. In a moment the game and hunters disappeared. Nothing could
be seen or heard but the occasional report of a gun, more and more
distant, reverberating among the rocks.
I turned to descend, and as I did so I could see the valley below alive
with Indians passing rapidly through it, on horseback and on foot.
A little farther on, all were stopping as they came up; the camp was
preparing, and the lodges rising. I descended to this spot, and soon
after Reynal and Raymond returned. They bore between them a sheep which
they had pelted to death with stones from the edge of a ravine, along
the bottom of which it was attempting to escape. One by one the hunters
came dropping in; yet such is the activity of the Rocky Mountain sheep
that, although sixty or seventy men were out in pursuit, not more than
half a dozen animals were killed. Of these only one was a full-grown
male. He had a pair of horns twisted like a ram’s, the dimensions of
which were almost beyond belief. I have seen among the Indians ladles
with long handles, capable of containing more than a quart, cut from
such horns.
There is something peculiarly interesting in the character and habits
of the mountain sheep, whose chosen retreats are above the region of
vegetation and storms, and who leap among the giddy precipices of their
aerial home as actively as the antelope skims over the prairies below.
Through the whole of the next morning we were moving forward, among
the hills. On the following day the heights gathered around us, and the
passage of the mountains began in earnest. Before the village left its
camping ground, I set forward in company with the Eagle-Feather, a man
of powerful frame, but of bad and sinister face. His son, a light-limbed
boy, rode with us, and another Indian, named the Panther, was also of
the party. Leaving the village out of sight behind us, we rode together
up a rocky defile. After a while, however, the Eagle-Feather discovered
in the distance some appearance of game, and set off with his son in
pursuit of it, while I went forward with the Panther. This was a mere
NOM DE GUERRE; for, like many Indians, he concealed his real name out
of some superstitious notion. He was a very noble looking fellow. As he
suffered his ornamented buffalo robe to fall into folds about his loins,
his stately and graceful figure was fully displayed; and while he sat
his horse in an easy attitude, the long feathers of the prairie cock
fluttering from the crown of his head, he seemed the very model of
a wild prairie-rider. He had not the same features as those of other
Indians. Unless his handsome face greatly belied him, he was free from
the jealousy, suspicion, and malignant cunning of his people. For the
most part, a civilized white man can discover but very few points
of sympathy between his own nature and that of an Indian. With every
disposition to do justice to their good qualities, he must be conscious
that an impassable gulf lies between him and his red brethren of the
prairie. Nay, so alien to himself do they appear that, having breathed
for a few months or a few weeks the air of this region, he begins to
look upon them as a troublesome and dangerous species of wild beast,
and, if expedient, he could shoot them with as little compunction as
they themselves would experience after performing the same office upon
him. Yet, in the countenance of the Panther, I gladly read that there
were at least some points of sympathy between him and me. We were
excellent friends, and as we rode forward together through rocky
passages, deep dells, and little barren plains, he occupied himself very
zealously in teaching me the Dakota language. After a while, we came to
a little grassy recess, where some gooseberry bushes were growing at the
foot of a rock; and these offered such temptation to my companion, that
he gave over his instruction, and stopped so long to gather the fruit
that before we were in motion again the van of the village came in
view. An old woman appeared, leading down her pack horse among the
rocks above. Savage after savage followed, and the little dell was soon
crowded with the throng.
That morning’s march was one not easily to be forgotten. It led us
through a sublime waste, a wilderness of mountains and pine forests,
over which the spirit of loneliness and silence seemed brooding. Above
and below little could be seen but the same dark green foliage. It
overspread the valleys, and the mountains were clothed with it from the
black rocks that crowned their summits to the impetuous streams that
circled round their base. Scenery like this, it might seem, could have
no very cheering effect on the mind of a sick man (for to-day my disease
had again assailed me) in the midst of a horde of savages; but if the
reader has ever wandered, with a true hunter’s spirit, among the forests
of Maine, or the more picturesque solitudes of the Adirondack Mountains,
he will understand how the somber woods and mountains around me might
have awakened any other feelings than those of gloom. In truth they
recalled gladdening recollections of similar scenes in a distant and far
different land. After we had been advancing for several hours through
passages always narrow, often obstructed and difficult, I saw at a
little distance on our right a narrow opening between two high wooded
precipices. All within seemed darkness and mystery. In the mood in which
I found myself something strongly impelled me to enter. Passing over the
intervening space I guided my horse through the rocky portal, and as
I did so instinctively drew the covering from my rifle, half expecting
that some unknown evil lay in ambush within those dreary recesses. The
place was shut in among tall cliffs, and so deeply shadowed by a host
of old pine trees that, though the sun shone bright on the side of the
mountain, nothing but a dim twilight could penetrate within. As far as
I could see it had no tenants except a few hawks and owls, who, dismayed
at my intrusion, flapped hoarsely away among the shaggy branches. I
moved forward, determined to explore the mystery to the bottom, and soon
became involved among the pines. The genius of the place exercised
a strange influence upon my mind. Its faculties were stimulated into
extraordinary activity, and as I passed along many half-forgotten
incidents, and the images of persons and things far distant, rose
rapidly before me with surprising distinctness. In that perilous
wilderness, eight hundred miles removed beyond the faintest vestige
of civilization, the scenes of another hemisphere, the seat of ancient
refinement, passed before me more like a succession of vivid paintings
than any mere dreams of the fancy. I saw the church of St. Peter’s
illumined on the evening of Easter Day, the whole majestic pile, from
the cross to the foundation stone, penciled in fire and shedding a
radiance, like the serene light of the moon, on the sea of upturned
faces below. I saw the peak of Mount Etna towering above its inky mantle
of clouds and lightly curling its wreaths of milk-white smoke against
the soft sky flushed with the Sicilian sunset. I saw also the gloomy
vaulted passages and the narrow cells of the Passionist convent where
I once had sojourned for a few days with the fanatical monks, its pale,
stern inmates in their robes of black, and the grated window from whence
I could look out, a forbidden indulgence, upon the melancholy Coliseum
and the crumbling ruins of the Eternal City. The mighty glaciers of the
Splugen too rose before me, gleaming in the sun like polished silver,
and those terrible solitudes, the birthplace of the Rhine, where
bursting from the bowels of its native mountains, it lashes and
foams down the rocky abyss into the little valley of Andeer. These
recollections, and many more, crowded upon me, until remembering that
it was hardly wise to remain long in such a place, I mounted again
and retraced my steps. Issuing from between the rocks I saw a few rods
before me the men, women, and children, dogs and horses, still filing
slowly across the little glen. A bare round hill rose directly above
them. I rode to the top, and from this point I could look down on the
savage procession as it passed just beneath my feet, and far on the
left I could see its thin and broken line, visible only at intervals,
stretching away for miles among the mountains. On the farthest ridge
horsemen were still descending like mere specks in the distance.
I remained on the hill until all had passed, and then, descending,
followed after them. A little farther on I found a very small meadow,
set deeply among steep mountains; and here the whole village had
encamped. The little spot was crowded with the confused and disorderly
host. Some of the lodges were already completely prepared, or the squaws
perhaps were busy in drawing the heavy coverings of skin over the bare
poles. Others were as yet mere skeletons, while others still--poles,
covering, and all--lay scattered in complete disorder on the ground
among buffalo robes, bales of meat, domestic utensils, harness, and
weapons. Squaws were screaming to one another, horses rearing and
plunging dogs yelping, eager to be disburdened of their loads, while
the fluttering of feathers and the gleam of barbaric ornaments added
liveliness to the scene. The small children ran about amid the crowd,
while many of the boys were scrambling among the overhanging rocks, and
standing, with their little bows in their hands, looking down upon a
restless throng. In contrast with the general confusion, a circle of old
men and warriors sat in the midst, smoking in profound indifference and
tranquillity. The disorder at length subsided. The horses were driven
away to feed along the adjacent valley, and the camp assumed an air of
listless repose. It was scarcely past noon; a vast white canopy of smoke
from a burning forest to the eastward overhung the place, and partially
obscured the sun; yet the heat was almost insupportable. The lodges
stood crowded together without order in the narrow space. Each was a
perfect hothouse, within which the lazy proprietor lay sleeping. The
camp was silent as death. Nothing stirred except now and then an old
woman passing from lodge to lodge. The girls and young men sat together
in groups under the pine trees upon the surrounding heights. The dogs
lay panting on the ground, too lazy even to growl at the white man.
At the entrance of the meadow there was a cold spring among the rocks,
completely overshadowed by tall trees and dense undergrowth. In this
cold and shady retreat a number of girls were assembled, sitting
together on rocks and fallen logs, discussing the latest gossip of
the village, or laughing and throwing water with their hands at the
intruding Meneaska. The minutes seemed lengthened into hours. I lay
for a long time under a tree, studying the Ogallalla tongue, with the
zealous instructions of my friend the Panther. When we were both tired
of this I went and lay down by the side of a deep, clear pool formed
by the water of the spring. A shoal of little fishes of about a pin’s
length were playing in it, sporting together, as it seemed, very
amicably; but on closer observation, I saw that they were engaged in a
cannibal warfare among themselves. Now and then a small one would fall
a victim, and immediately disappear down the maw of his voracious
conqueror. Every moment, however, the tyrant of the pool, a monster
about three inches long, with staring goggle eyes, would slowly issue
forth with quivering fins and tail from under the shelving bank. The
small fry at this would suspend their hostilities, and scatter in a
panic at the appearance of overwhelming force.
“Soft-hearted philanthropists,” thought I, “may sigh long for their
peaceful millennium; for from minnows up to men, life is an incessant
battle.”
Evening approached at last, the tall mountain-tops around were still gay
and bright in sunshine, while our deep glen was completely shadowed.
I left the camp and ascended a neighboring hill, whose rocky summit
commanded a wide view over the surrounding wilderness. The sun was still
glaring through the stiff pines on the ridge of the western mountain.
In a moment he was gone, and as the landscape rapidly darkened, I turned
again toward the village. As I descended the hill, the howling of wolves
and the barking of foxes came up out of the dim woods from far and near.
The camp was glowing with a multitude of fires, and alive with dusky
naked figures, whose tall shadows flitted among the surroundings crags.
I found a circle of smokers seated in their usual place; that is, on the
ground before the lodge of a certain warrior, who seemed to be generally
known for his social qualities. I sat down to smoke a parting pipe
with my savage friends. That day was the 1st of August, on which I had
promised to meet Shaw at Fort Laramie. The Fort was less than two
days’ journey distant, and that my friend need not suffer anxiety on my
account, I resolved to push forward as rapidly as possible to the place
of meeting. I went to look after the Hail-Storm, and having found him,
I offered him a handful of hawks’-bells and a paper of vermilion, on
condition that he would guide me in the morning through the mountains
within sight of Laramie Creek.
The Hail-Storm ejaculated “How!” and accepted the gift. Nothing more was
said on either side; the matter was settled, and I lay down to sleep in
Kongra-Tonga’s lodge.
Long before daylight Raymond shook me by the shoulder.
“Everything is ready,” he said.
I went out. The morning was chill, damp, and dark; and the whole camp
seemed asleep. The Hail-Storm sat on horseback before the lodge, and my
mare Pauline and the mule which Raymond rode were picketed near it.
We saddled and made our other arrangements for the journey, but before
these were completed the camp began to stir, and the lodge-coverings
fluttered and rustled as the squaws pulled them down in preparation for
departure. Just as the light began to appear we left the ground, passing
up through a narrow opening among the rocks which led eastward out of
the meadow. Gaining the top of this passage, I turned round and sat
looking back upon the camp, dimly visible in the gray light of the
morning. All was alive with the bustle of preparation. I turned away,
half unwilling to take a final leave of my savage associates. We turned
to the right, passing among the rocks and pine trees so dark that for a
while we could scarcely see our way. The country in front was wild and
broken, half hill, half plain, partly open and partly covered with woods
of pine and oak. Barriers of lofty mountains encompassed it; the woods
were fresh and cool in the early morning; the peaks of the mountains
were wreathed with mist, and sluggish vapors were entangled among the
forests upon their sides. At length the black pinnacle of the tallest
mountain was tipped with gold by the rising sun. About that time the
Hail-Storm, who rode in front gave a low exclamation. Some large animal
leaped up from among the bushes, and an elk, as I thought, his horns
thrown back over his neck, darted past us across the open space, and
bounded like a mad thing away among the adjoining pines. Raymond was
soon out of his saddle, but before he could fire, the animal was full
two hundred yards distant. The ball struck its mark, though much too low
for mortal effect. The elk, however, wheeled in its flight, and ran at
full speed among the trees, nearly at right angles to his former course.
I fired and broke his shoulder; still he moved on, limping down into the
neighboring woody hollow, whither the young Indian followed and killed
him. When we reached the spot we discovered him to be no elk, but a
black-tailed deer, an animal nearly twice the size of the common deer,
and quite unknown to the East. We began to cut him up; the reports of
the rifles had reached the ears of the Indians, and before our task was
finished several of them came to the spot. Leaving the hide of the deer
to the Hail-Storm, we hung as much of the meat as we wanted behind
our saddles, left the rest to the Indians, and resumed our journey.
Meanwhile the village was on its way, and had gone so far that to get in
advance of it was impossible. Therefore we directed our course so as to
strike its line of march at the nearest point. In a short time, through
the dark trunks of the pines, we could see the figures of the Indians
as they passed. Once more we were among them. They were moving with even
more than their usual precipitation, crowded close together in a narrow
pass between rocks and old pine trees. We were on the eastern descent
of the mountain, and soon came to a rough and difficult defile, leading
down a very steep declivity. The whole swarm poured down together,
filling the rocky passageway like some turbulent mountain stream. The
mountains before us were on fire, and had been so for weeks. The view in
front was obscured by a vast dim sea of smoke and vapor, while on either
hand the tall cliffs, bearing aloft their crest of pines, thrust their
heads boldly through it, and the sharp pinnacles and broken ridges of
the mountains beyond them were faintly traceable as through a veil.
The scene in itself was most grand and imposing, but with the savage
multitude, the armed warriors, the naked children, the gayly appareled
girls, pouring impetuously down the heights, it would have formed a
noble subject for a painter, and only the pen of a Scott could have done
it justice in description.
We passed over a burnt tract where the ground was hot beneath the
horses’ feet, and between the blazing sides of two mountains. Before
long we had descended to a softer region, where we found a succession
of little valleys watered by a stream, along the borders of which grew
abundance of wild gooseberries and currants, and the children and many
of the men straggled from the line of march to gather them as we passed
along. Descending still farther, the view changed rapidly. The burning
mountains were behind us, and through the open valleys in front we could
see the ocean-like prairie, stretching beyond the sight. After passing
through a line of trees that skirted the brook, the Indians filed out
upon the plains. I was thirsty and knelt down by the little stream to
drink. As I mounted again I very carelessly left my rifle among the
grass, and my thoughts being otherwise absorbed, I rode for some
distance before discovering its absence. As the reader may conceive,
I lost no time in turning about and galloping back in search of it.
Passing the line of Indians, I watched every warrior as he rode by me at
a canter, and at length discovered my rifle in the hands of one of them,
who, on my approaching to claim it, immediately gave it up. Having no
other means of acknowledging the obligation, I took off one of my spurs
and gave it to him. He was greatly delighted, looking upon it as a
distinguished mark of favor, and immediately held out his foot for me to
buckle it on. As soon as I had done so, he struck it with force into
the side of his horse, who gave a violent leap. The Indian laughed and
spurred harder than before. At this the horse shot away like an arrow,
amid the screams and laughter of the squaws, and the ejaculations of the
men, who exclaimed: “Washtay!--Good!” at the potent effect of my gift.
The Indian had no saddle, and nothing in place of a bridle except a
leather string tied round the horse’s jaw. The animal was of course
wholly uncontrollable, and stretched away at full speed over the
prairie, till he and his rider vanished behind a distant swell. I never
saw the man again, but I presume no harm came to him. An Indian on
horseback has more lives than a cat.
The village encamped on a scorching prairie, close to the foot of the
mountains. The beat was most intense and penetrating. The coverings
of the lodges were raised a foot or more from the ground, in order to
procure some circulation of air; and Reynal thought proper to lay aside
his trapper’s dress of buckskin and assume the very scanty costume of an
Indian. Thus elegantly attired, he stretched himself in his lodge on a
buffalo robe, alternately cursing the heat and puffing at the pipe which
he and I passed between us. There was present also a select circle of
Indian friends and relatives. A small boiled puppy was served up as a
parting feast, to which was added, by way of dessert, a wooden bowl of
gooseberries, from the mountains.
“Look there,” said Reynal, pointing out of the opening of his lodge; “do
you see that line of buttes about fifteen miles off? Well, now, do you
see that farthest one, with the white speck on the face of it? Do you
think you ever saw it before?”
“It looks to me,” said I, “like the hill that we were camped under when
we were on Laramie Creek, six or eight weeks ago.”
“You’ve hit it,” answered Reynal.
“Go and bring in the animals, Raymond,” said I: “we’ll camp there
to-night, and start for the Fort in the morning.”
The mare and the mule were soon before the lodge. We saddled them, and
in the meantime a number of Indians collected about us. The virtues of
Pauline, my strong, fleet, and hardy little mare, were well known in
camp, and several of the visitors were mounted upon good horses which
they had brought me as presents. I promptly declined their offers, since
accepting them would have involved the necessity of transferring poor
Pauline into their barbarous hands. We took leave of Reynal, but not
of the Indians, who are accustomed to dispense with such superfluous
ceremonies. Leaving the camp we rode straight over the prairie toward
the white-faced bluff, whose pale ridges swelled gently against the
horizon, like a cloud. An Indian went with us, whose name I forget,
though the ugliness of his face and the ghastly width of his mouth dwell
vividly in my recollection. The antelope were numerous, but we did not
heed them. We rode directly toward our destination, over the arid plains
and barren hills, until, late in the afternoon, half spent with heat,
thirst, and fatigue, we saw a gladdening sight; the long line of trees
and the deep gulf that mark the course of Laramie Creek. Passing through
the growth of huge dilapidated old cottonwood trees that bordered the
creek, we rode across to the other side.
The rapid and foaming waters were filled with fish playing and splashing
in the shallows. As we gained the farther bank, our horses turned
eagerly to drink, and we, kneeling on the sand, followed their example.
We had not gone far before the scene began to grow familiar.
“We are getting near home, Raymond,” said I.
There stood the Big Tree under which we had encamped so long; there were
the white cliffs that used to look down upon our tent when it stood
at the bend of the creek; there was the meadow in which our horses had
grazed for weeks, and a little farther on, the prairie-dog village
where I had beguiled many a languid hour in persecuting the unfortunate
inhabitants.
“We are going to catch it now,” said Raymond, turning his broad, vacant
face up toward the sky.
In truth, the landscape, the cliffs and the meadow, the stream and the
groves were darkening fast. Black masses of cloud were swelling up in
the south, and the thunder was growling ominously.
“We will camp here,” I said, pointing to a dense grove of trees lower
down the stream. Raymond and I turned toward it, but the Indian stopped
and called earnestly after us. When we demanded what was the matter, he
said that the ghosts of two warriors were always among those trees, and
that if we slept there, they would scream and throw stones at us all
night, and perhaps steal our horses before morning. Thinking it as well
to humor him, we left behind us the haunt of these extraordinary ghosts,
and passed on toward Chugwater, riding at full gallop, for the big drops
began to patter down. Soon we came in sight of the poplar saplings that
grew about the mouth of the little stream. We leaped to the ground,
threw off our saddles, turned our horses loose, and drawing our knives,
began to slash among the bushes to cut twigs and branches for making a
shelter against the rain. Bending down the taller saplings as they
grew, we piled the young shoots upon them; and thus made a convenient
penthouse, but all our labor was useless. The storm scarcely touched us.
Half a mile on our right the rain was pouring down like a cataract, and
the thunder roared over the prairie like a battery of cannon; while we
by good fortune received only a few heavy drops from the skirt of the
passing cloud. The weather cleared and the sun set gloriously. Sitting
close under our leafy canopy, we proceeded to discuss a substantial meal
of wasna which Weah-Washtay had given me. The Indian had brought with
him his pipe and a bag of shongsasha; so before lying down to sleep,
we sat for some time smoking together. Previously, however, our
wide-mouthed friend had taken the precaution of carefully examining the
neighborhood. He reported that eight men, counting them on his fingers,
had been encamped there not long before. Bisonette, Paul Dorion, Antoine
Le Rouge, Richardson, and four others, whose names he could not tell.
All this proved strictly correct. By what instinct he had arrived at
such accurate conclusions, I am utterly at a loss to divine.
It was still quite dark when I awoke and called Raymond. The Indian was
already gone, having chosen to go on before us to the Fort. Setting out
after him, we rode for some time in complete darkness, and when the sun
at length rose, glowing like a fiery ball of copper, we were ten miles
distant from the Fort. At length, from the broken summit of a tall sandy
bluff we could see Fort Laramie, miles before us, standing by the side
of the stream like a little gray speck in the midst of the bounding
desolation. I stopped my horse, and sat for a moment looking down upon
it. It seemed to me the very center of comfort and civilization. We were
not long in approaching it, for we rode at speed the greater part of the
way. Laramie Creek still intervened between us and the friendly walls.
Entering the water at the point where we had struck upon the bank, we
raised our feet to the saddle behind us, and thus, kneeling as it were
on horseback, passed dry-shod through the swift current. As we rode up
the bank, a number of men appeared in the gateway. Three of them came
forward to meet us. In a moment I distinguished Shaw; Henry Chatillon
followed with his face of manly simplicity and frankness, and Delorier
came last, with a broad grin of welcome. The meeting was not on either
side one of mere ceremony. For my own part, the change was a most
agreeable one from the society of savages and men little better than
savages, to that of my gallant and high-minded companion and our
noble-hearted guide. My appearance was equally gratifying to Shaw, who
was beginning to entertain some very uncomfortable surmises concerning
me.
Bordeaux greeted me very cordially, and shouted to the cook. This
functionary was a new acquisition, having lately come from Fort Pierre
with the trading wagons. Whatever skill he might have boasted, he had
not the most promising materials to exercise it upon. He set before me,
however, a breakfast of biscuit, coffee, and salt pork. It seemed like a
new phase of existence, to be seated once more on a bench, with a knife
and fork, a plate and teacup, and something resembling a table before
me. The coffee seemed delicious, and the bread was a most welcome
novelty, since for three weeks I had eaten scarcely anything but meat,
and that for the most part without salt. The meal also had the relish of
good company, for opposite to me sat Shaw in elegant dishabille. If one
is anxious thoroughly to appreciate the value of a congenial companion,
he has only to spend a few weeks by himself in an Ogallalla village. And
if he can contrive to add to his seclusion a debilitating and somewhat
critical illness, his perceptions upon this subject will be rendered
considerably more vivid.
Shaw had been upward of two weeks at the Fort. I found him established
in his old quarters, a large apartment usually occupied by the absent
bourgeois. In one corner was a soft and luxuriant pile of excellent
buffalo robes, and here I lay down. Shaw brought me three books.
“Here,” said he, “is your Shakespeare and Byron, and here is the
Old Testament, which has as much poetry in it as the other two put
together.”
I chose the worst of the three, and for the greater part of that day
lay on the buffalo robes, fairly reveling in the creations of that
resplendent genius which has achieved no more signal triumph than that
of half beguiling us to forget the pitiful and unmanly character of its
possessor.